


stand back and watch you shine

by cinderlily



Series: you're my home [2]
Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-08
Updated: 2010-05-08
Packaged: 2017-10-09 09:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/85533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderlily/pseuds/cinderlily





	stand back and watch you shine

When it came down to it, there just wasn’t anything tying him down to Utah anymore. It was weird and a little painful, but completely freeing. He had spent the first 19 years of his life with someone else making his decisions for him and for the first time it was just him.

So when Cook asked, "Why don't you come back to LA with me?" David opened his mouth to say something like, “Are you crazy?”

But then... well. Was it that crazy? David _could_ just do that.

He hesitated for a few long moments and repeatedly licked his lips. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to. Actually he wanted to more than anything on earth. But it was… impulsive. It was out of nowhere and totally spontaneous and not him at all. But then Cook smiled at him, lopsided and easy and everything seemed _possible_.

“Sure?”

He didn't have a lease on his apartment so all he had to do was pay through the month. He didn't have school to worry about in the fall and while it wasn't fun telling his boss that he was leaving, it was easy enough. Mr. Murphy actually looked a little relieved, honestly, excited that David wasn't going to let himself be tied down.

*

A few days later, David was thankful that Cook didn’t make a comment when he showed up at David’s apartment door and found that all his worldly possessions fit into a duffel bag and a backpack. As it was, it hurt to think that when he was cleaning out his apartment, nothing felt even remotely important to him.

He took his clothes, of course, and his computer. He took the small black photo album that his mom had given him and Totoro, which he tried to stuff to the bottom of the bag to keep Cook from seeing.

Beyond that, nothing seemed to matter enough to come with him. It left a sour taste in his mouth, one that didn’t go away even when the bag landed in the back seat of Cook’s rental car. Cook was convinced a nice simple road trip would give them both a chance to relax and get to know each other.

To David, it meant two days in close proximity (they could make it in one day but ten hours was a little much to drive in one day and conveniently, Cook thought stopping in Vegas was a great idea). Two days where Cook could easily get annoyed by David’s singing, his tendency to let his mind wander or his inability to close his mouth when he was nervous. Two days that would easily give Cook time to decide that he had made a huge mistake asking David to come along.

Cook, however, was the one to hold up both ends of the conversation for the first fifty or so miles. With Jimmy Eat World’s ‘_Bleed American_’ as the background music, Cook talked about everything. About the tour they’d just finished and the one they were about to take, about his family and Dublin. He even hummed some of the bars of a few new songs he was thinking about putting on the new album, and David bit his inner cheek to keep himself from being a total dork and asking for more.

Finally, after they stopped for their first pit stop, Cook turned to David and leveled a serious stare at him. “Alright, Archuleta, you’ve got to shut up.”

“Wh..wait, what?”

Cook’s lip twitched but beyond that he kept a straight face. “You’re just talking too damn much, man. I can’t get a word in edgewise. It’s kind of rude, actually.”

“I’m not talking,” David said, voice high enough to be a squeak. When Cook broke, a full out chuckle that came from his belly and made him shake, David felt himself blush. “_Sorry_.”

“No need to apologize, just join in occasionally. I’m starting to feel like a one man show and I’m _not_ meant for the theater.”

David didn’t say that he liked hearing Cook talk about anything and everything, and instead bit the inside of his lip and thought about what he could bring to the conversation. He was _boring_. He looked at the scenery flying by and he thought about his childhood road trips. Thought about what they did and where they went, half debated telling stories about Claudia getting motion sickness or their trip to Disneyland, but didn’t even know where to start. He opened his mouth and let himself sing a song his mother used to sing to him when he whined in the car as a kid.

“_Too much of nothing can make a man feel ill at ease…_”

Cook clicked off the radio and David froze.

“Don’t stop now man, who needs a lousy radio when you’ve got your own personal iPod?” Cook smiled, but David didn’t see any mocking behind it so he shrugged and went on.

David didn’t quite preen, but when Cook gestured at him to go on to the next song, he looked out the window and started the next song that popped into his head.

*

Once, when David was young, his family had driven through Las Vegas when they were heading home from Los Angeles. All that David could really remember were the lights, the bright flashing lights that he couldn’t quite focus on because every time one would come into focus another one (bigger and brighter) was no doubt close behind. He remembered thinking that it was the prettiest place that he could imagine.

Cook had a reservation at the Bellagio for the night, which David thought was just plain silly. It was _one night_ after all and after five straight hours of being in a car, the first thing on his mind was a long shower, food, and then sleep. In that order. He felt awkward when Cook grabbed a credit card from his back pocket and even more awkward when the girl behind the desk blushed furiously as she realized who she was checking in.

She looked between the two of them and licked at her lips nervously. “Will that be a king sized bed or two queens?”

“Two beds,” David answered quickly, which warranted a sideways glance from Cook but David ignored it. “… Please.” The girl behind the desk visibly relaxed and David felt like he had swallowed a rock and it had landed in the bottom of his stomach with a horrible thud.

The girl handed them the keys and gave them a long spiel about amenities that the hotel had to offer, but David zoned out and followed Cook automatically through the bright lights and loud noises to the elevators. The elevator was full, something that seemed to be a common theme in the hotel, so it wasn’t until they got to their huge room that Cook breached the awkward silence.

“Archie,” Cook said, his hand landing on David’s shoulder. “Everything okay?”

David considered lying, looked from Cook to the awesome lights below them. It might make things easier to just say it was jet lag and road trip haze but when he looked back at the sincerity in Cook’s eyes he just couldn’t seem to get himself to do it.

“We just… _I just_…. Moved,” he said, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of a couch cushion (and really, what kind of hotel had a full sized couch just to let you look out a window?) as he avoided looking at Cook’s face. “We barely know each other and I just put all my stuff in your car and followed you across the country? Am I crazy?”

Cook stilled David’s fingers with a hand. “Well, technically it wasn’t my car.”

“_Cook_.”

Their hands twined, Cook pulled him over to sit closer on the huge couch and they both looked out at the lights. It wasn’t quite cuddling, but they were close enough for David to feel Cook’s warm presence and through Cook’s wrist on his, he could almost feel his pulse.

Cook exhaled. “We might have done this fast. But we don’t have to do this any faster than you want to. I l-like you. A lot, if you couldn’t tell, and if that means we have to take this slow then we’ll take it slow. You set the pace. I’m okay with that.”

David scrutinized the look Cook was giving him, and didn’t know if the pull at his heart was relief or just plain awe. He nodded and leaned his head against Cook’s shoulder. “Slow. We can take it slow. I don’t know how ready I am to sleep next to each other.”

He felt Cook nod.

When he kissed Cook goodnight, before they went to their separate beds, he lingered. Put a hand on the back of Cook’s neck and hoped Cook got just what he was meaning to give him.

“Thank you,” he whispered, forehead on Cook’s.

Cook smiled. “You’re welcome.”

They got into bed and turned off the lights, and David turned to face the direction where he knew Cook was. “Night Cook.”

“Night Arch,” Cook said, voice echoing in the large room. “And Arch?”

“Hmmm?” David asked, already halfway asleep.

“Thanks back.”

David was asleep before he could think to ask what Cook was thankful for.

*

Once they arrived in Los Angeles, it was almost like they had reached Never-Never Land. Cook had times where he had to be in the studio or at practice for the next tour but mostly it was just the two of them. Well, the three of them, if they counted Dublin which David did. He wasn’t much of a crazy pet person but Dublin was happy and hyper and the perfect pet for Cook.

During the times when Cook was away, David would take Dubs all around. He would take him for long walks along the streets of LA, to dog parks and even jogging with him when Dublin would let him. (Sometimes Dublin would just sit down like, ‘Jog? Are you kidding me?’) It gave David something to do. Not that he would admit it, but he felt almost like a house husband or something and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

At least tour loomed in the near future, something to look forward to. He hadn’t really seen much of America before, and he got to go with Cook who, for some bizarre reason, seemed to like him just as much as David found himself liking Cook. Well, maybe even more than like. He just didn’t know and wasn't trying to jump the gun. He was blindly happy.

Well _almost_.

When he first got to Los Angeles, he had called Claudia, who hadn’t answered, and left a message to say that he was safe. He sent a few emails to his mom (who, to be fair, never really checked her email) and to his siblings. It was like a hole in his heart that stung every time he took a breath. He tried not to dwell on it for too long, though, mostly because he saw the sad look on Cook’s face when he recognized the pain in David’s eyes.

It had been four months since David had had any contact with his family. He hadn’t talked, emailed, written, he hadn’t even so much as heard through the grapevine what they were doing and it was definitely beginning to take its toll on him. Family was something that _meant something_, not only to him but to people in general. He needed to talk to them more than anything else.

While he figured his parents would have a hard time adjusting, he had hoped his siblings would be different. But he had been completely wrong. He was half scared of what his parents had said about him to his siblings, knew that none of it could be good.

He thought about taking a flight to Utah before the tour, just to look his family in the face but fear and lack of time kept him from doing that.

The life of a rock star wasn’t exactly what he had expected but it did have some definite perks, one of which was the swag that David got as cast offs from Cook. It didn’t feel so horribly like mooching off of Cook when Cook hadn’t even paid for it in the first place. It gave his empty duffel some new clothes and some filler, which he wasn’t sure he would have ever gotten as just David Archuleta from Provo, Utah.

That, along with the money he’d saved from a full year and a half of working gave him a lot larger duffel bag (_though not nearly large as the others_, he thought embarrassingly) when the tour bus showed up outside Cook’s house nearly four months later. His official title on the tour was assistant, but Cook insisted it was assistant to Dublin Cook. It was in name only, meant to keep the record label off of their backs and to keep David close by.

David didn’t complain, he just nodded and waited until everyone else picked their bunks out before he put his duffel on top of the one left over.

*

The first show was in Tulsa, which David could quite quickly tell meant everything to the guys. He got that at least part of it was just first show energy but there was something in the air that felt _different_. The entire bus ride there was one long session of story after story about different ways they’d gotten in trouble, about places they _had_ to check out and places they weren’t allowed back in.

Cook kept back a little, which David thought was because he was there. The thought made a sick twist in his gut. He hated to think that Cook had to change who he was around him. He liked Cook for _Cook_ and he didn’t want to be that kind of… well. That kind of _boyfriend_.

It wasn’t until they stopped in Tulsa, not at the Arena or even the hotel but at the airport, that Cook’s quiet smile was explained. The door swung open and a blur of motion brought a new guy into the fray. David blinked and tried to place the face, and when did he nearly made a fool of himself by exclaiming ‘Oh my lord, you’re ANDREW COOK!’

One of the other guys did it for him, and then the rest of the guys joined in the chorus. They smacked his back and made some lewd jokes before David was being pushed towards him and pulled into a half awkward hug.

“’Brothers don’t shake hands’,” Andrew affected a weird voice, but everyone around them seemed to get it. When he pulled back, he looked David up and down. “So you’re the guy who my brother’s all lovey dovey over.”

Cook pulled Andrew into a headlock, digging his knuckle into the top of his head. He looked David in the eye, even as his brother struggled. “Ignore whatever this jerk says. Probably only half of it is true.”

“Uncle!” Andrew groaned. “Unnnnnncle.”

Just like that they were hugging. David caught sight of Cook’s smile over Andrew’s shoulder and it was pure bliss. Unexpectedly his throat was tight, his lips pursed together and his eyes were stinging. His heart ached in his chest and he felt so beyond stupid he couldn’t stand it. He looked down at the ground, the ugly red carpet of the bus and took a few deep breaths.

What he needed was an escape route. He wasn’t going to ruin this moment for Cook… or the Cooks he guessed. He could feel the red tone as it rose on his neck, but then suddenly a hand landed on his back and he looked up to see Andrew give him a tentative smile.

“Don’t worry,” Andrew said, loud but leaning in conspiratorially. “Most of the people Dave brings home are embarrassed that they’re dating him.”

He furrowed his eyebrows but could see Andrew’s quick wink. He was still tearing up, but the sudden panic of it ebbed just long enough for him to take a breath. The group was suddenly looking at him, or maybe he was just noticing it. “Wh-what? You mean he didn’t have to trick the others into meeting you?”

There was a split second of silence before they all started cracking up, even Cook, who was giving him a worried look. He was … feeling better as they sat down in the lounge area and the bus drove off to the venue.

“You know,” Andrew smiled at his brother. “I actually kind of like this one.”

Cook squeezed David’s hand where they were laced under the table. His eyes were still a little creased with worry but his smile mirrored his brother’s. “Yeah, I kind of like this one too.”

David ducked his head to hide the flush, a good one this time, but there was still the lingering jealousy of _family_ and love in the background that had David feeling dipped in guilt.

*

Not that it came as that much of a shock to David, but the first night went without a hitch. The crowd was amazing, loud but so into the music that it was like they breathed when Cook breathed. He stood off stage beside Andrew, who would turn to David at intervals with this look of, ‘Can you believe it?’ on his face that was just the right type of beautiful. He would smile, not able to answer the question with the din of noise around them but he knew Andrew got it.

In the end, Cook charged off the stage and practically picked David up with the sheer force of his hug. David was covered in stage sweat but it was the best feeling he’d had all week and he soaked up the sweaty smell like it was the highest priced cologne.

“Awesome set,” Andrew screamed, more to the crowd than to anyone in general.

David watched as Cook turned to his band mates with a happy smile. “Not done yet.”

They all nodded and turned back to the delight of the audience.

“You guys didn’t honestly think we could leave you yet?” Cook said, hands wrapped around the microphone. “What about a single?”

Even though he had heard the song a million times, the opening chords of ‘Come Back to Me’ made his heart beat just a little faster. When he started to hum along, a hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled him back. He gave Andrew a weird look but followed without a struggle.

The green room had enough padding that they could just barely hear the music above them, much to David’s disappointment. He stood there for a second and tried a smile.

“Everything okay?”

Andrew bit his lip. “Look, I know I’m just the younger brother. But as the only relative here, I’m going to throw protocol out of the window.”

David nodded.

“I’m not going to say the usual bullshit about hurting my brother. I could see within two minutes that you couldn’t hurt a bee even if it stung you, but there are things you need to know. This? This is his dream. And he worked damned hard to get here. So you need to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t. Fuck. With. This. Dream.”

David swallowed. “Of course I wouldn’t f- I would never mess with this dream. I want him happy.”

Andrew considered this for a second, and in the distance Cook changed from ‘Come Back to Me’ to ‘The Truth’. “Dave doesn’t go half way in relationships. He jumps head first, and to be honest it looks like I’m too late to stop that.”

David’s heart beat just a little faster, not that he would tell Andrew that.

“So you are going to have to be the one,” Andrew frowned. “To not let him screw himself up for you.”

He did the only thing he could; he nodded adamantly. Andrew’s face relaxed a little and his lips curled into a smile.

“Good, now let’s go watch my brother make girls swoon. Who knows why.”

Andrew pulled him back out, like he was a puppy that needed to be led and they reached the side of the stage just in time to hear Cook declare that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

David’s stomach kind of hurt the second time that Cook came off stage but he let himself be picked up in a huge hug and tried his best not to meet Andrew’s eyes. He had to give the guy some respect; if anybody tried to mess with his siblings, he would do the same thing.

*

After the celebratory round of drinks and partying (where David spent most of the time with his eyes on the clock, awkward and nervous), Cook was still hyped up and David had to admit that he was too. His talk with Andrew aside, the night was just about the coolest of his life. He had seen countless shows before, but he hadn’t been a _part_ of one before.

Neither of them could pretend to want to sleep so they lay, fully clothed, and stared up at the hotel ceiling from their separate beds. Cook talked about the way the crowd sang along with him, how even the fact that they knew all his words still caught him off guard. David talked about the way the music sounded from off stage and how even the guys who worked the back seemed to get into the music. They talked for an hour straight before there was a pause and David was just about to break it with the story of Andrew’s looks towards him during the show but Cook broke it first.

“I think you need to contact your family,” Cook said in one long breath. David frowned, even when he knew Cook wouldn’t be able to see it.

David closed his eyes and sent up a prayer to keep him from actually crying. “I tried. I am … They won’t listen. I tried my sisters and my brother and left messages and … I _tried_.”

He hated how desperate he sounded, but it was true. He put a hand up and covered his face with one hand. It was… it wasn’t what he wanted to be. He heard a creak and movement and suddenly there was a body beside him, an arm over his chest and he knew there were rules but he leaned into the touch.

“Okay, come on man,” Cook said, his voice a mere inch from David’s ear. “They want to hear from you. You want to hear from them. It’s time to try something else.

David let out a frustrated sigh, air pushed against Cook’s shoulder. “Another way?”

A quick kiss to the temple and Cook pulled back, switched on a light and pointed in the general direction of the desk. “A letter. You’re going to put pen to paper. Even if you don’t end up sending it, words usually help me out.”

“You think they’d read that?”

“I know they will,” Cook said, with his usual concentrated sincerity. “Now try.”

David looked between the desk and Cook and debated just telling him a flat out ‘No.’ He wasn’t sure he could handle yet another way his family could make it clear how unwelcome he was. But … just maybe it wouldn’t be that way and really David couldn’t help but hold onto that hope.

If nothing else, he tried to convince himself that it would be a way to get through his post show energy.

*

Two hours and countless drafts later the letter looked liked this:

 

_Dear Mama, _

Hope your birthday went well, I wish I could have been there. Did Abuelita come? Did she make Arroz con Leche? While we were in Tulsa, there was a place that said it served traditional Honduran food, but nothing tasted right. Maybe because the waitress was from Canada but maybe I think it might be because you make the food right.

I’ve been writing music. None of it’s amazing but I’ve been practicing and it has been getting better. Mostly it’s been to have something to do but Cook’s been helping me and he is really good. Really good. So sometimes the songs have great baselines and they are too hard for me. But it feels good and I feel like I’m really doing something. If I ever put it onto a CD I’ll send it to you. I hope you’d like it.

Speaking of Cook… I hope someday you will get to meet him, Mama. I know the people have put out a lot of bad things about us and that the newspaper said mean things about him. Like that he took advantage of me or that he was the one who got me in trouble, but I need you to know he didn’t and he wasn’t. I made my choices and he was only a part of them. I wasn’t meant for that college and maybe I’ll go back somewhere to get a degree, but I don’t think that BYU was for me. I’m sorry that it wasn’t.

He makes me happy. He’s hilarious and silly, but really dedicated to his job and to his family. He’s trying to talk me into trying to get a record deal, because he thinks I can get one. Which is … kind of scary but awesome.

I’m sorry that I hurt you. I understand why you guys were upset but… I hope someday you can forgive me. Tell the girls and Daniel that I miss them. I love you.

David

He turned to see if Cook wanted to read it, but found that Cook had fallen asleep on top of what had been his bed, with Totoro as his pillow. He resisted the urge to join them, went through the mental list of why he wasn’t ready for that, and slipped into Cook’s bed instead.

*

Over the next few weeks of tour it was quickly established that free nights were coveted more than the last sandwich in the green room. Even if they were all exhausted or if they were in a podunk town, there was no excuse. The first few times that David had tried to wiggle out of them, he ended up getting nicknamed ‘Gramps’ and teased hard enough that he just stopped trying.

So when they had the night off in Dallas, he was shocked by Cook's declaration that they weren't going with the boys to whatever place that Neal had found.

"Not tonight guys," Cook smiled toothily. "We have plans."

"We do?" David blurted out. Kyle and Neal sniggered while Andy let loose a low whistle.

David could see the tops of Cook's cheeks turn pink even as he chided. "What's your dry spell at now Skibbs? Six months?"

Andy flicked him off, but before the ensuing verbal warfare, Cook rolled his eyes and dug into his back pocket. Being careful not to show David, he unfolded a green piece of paper and showed it to the group. One by one their eyes went from the paper to David, each smile making him feel less and less confident in what it read.

“What is that?” he craned his neck, but Cook folded it quickly and slipped it back into his pocket.

Cook smiled innocently. “A surprise. You ready?”

David looked down at his shirt, a yellow button down, and to his jeans that had holes in the knees and frowned. “Um… I don’t know?”

“You’ll do fine,” Kyle slapped him on the back of his shoulder.

Andy didn’t look as encouraging when he smirked. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Well actually, he _could_…” Neal started but Kyle slapped a hand over his mouth.

“You’ll. Do. Fine.” Kyle repeated. Beneath his hand, Neal muttered a protest. “You really think sticking your tongue out is going to bother me? Man, I’ve got a _kid_.”

*

David had assumed, probably naively, that it would be a date. Had thought maybe they would go out dancing (even though he couldn’t dance) or to a club (that they would have to fake his way into).

So when they walked up to a rather large sign that read, “OPEN MIC NIGHT” David stopped in his tracks and started to shake his head.

“No way,” he told Cook, his head shaking back and forth as fast as he could. “I’m not doing this. I’m not doing this…”

Cook cocked an eyebrow and gave an easy smile. “You are doing this. Come on.”

*

“I can’t do this,” David whispered for what felt like the 100th time since they’d gotten there. He turned back towards Cook who had patiently ignored most of his pleas to do _anything_ else. Cook was already on stage on a stool, a fedora ducked down but a smile appearing underneath. Not like he hadn’t had the time to properly freak out yet, but that smile made David’s stomach jump to the base of his throat. “_Cook_.”

Cook nodded his head toward the mike stand and whispered back. “Yeah you can, I know you can.”

Before David could open his mouth to plead, Cook strummed once or twice with an ease David would give anything to feel. It was a song he’d sung a million times, alone of course… a luxury he didn’t have at the moment. He closed his eyes and tried his best to breathe.

When he didn’t sing the first line, Cook paused mid strum. “You can do this.”

David turned to flash a timid smile towards Cook and then picked a point at the very back of the club to stare at. The guitar started up again and he counted out the beat on the microphone stand.

“_Me and all my friends, we’re all misunderstood…_”

His voice wasn’t as solid as he hoped it would be and he could feel the energy in the room ebb a little bit. By the time he got to the first chorus, when the words were supposed to echo back, he was shocked to hear the people around him repeat them back at him. He felt his heartbeat, which had been so quick he thought it might burst, slow down in small doses.

He forced himself to focus on the words, the ones he’d sung a million times before, in the shower and in the car… without people around. He let his mind wander to times when he was on stage with an empty audience, which was just ridiculous. The small coffee shop wasn’t even close to capacity. He was probably playing to twenty people at max; that was nothing at all. Still his heart hammered in his chest.

By the time he got to the final repetition of “_waiting on the world to change_” he was in another place. He put his hand up to his chest and was surprised not to find the jack-hammering heartbeat but rather just a steady beat. He was even more surprised when the crowd, however small, started to clap and holler when he finished. He looked down at the ground and then back up, just barely able to catch a few happy faces of people who were giddily cheering him along.

When he looked behind him, to find Cook’s beaming smile under his low slung hat, it was like the whole night was made. He wanted to jump forward and cling to him, to dig his head into Cook’s neck and inhale deeply. He felt… alive. In the way that he had seen all the boys charge off the stage each night. His heart was going fast, yeah, but with adrenaline rather than fear, he felt like he could practically run a marathon.

And it hit him all at once that that was what he wanted to do. That right there, with the music and the crowd and happiness. Never once had he considered himself a true musician. Even on Star Search or in Church, those were obligations. Standing there, in front of barely anyone but soaking it all up? That was what he wanted.

Cook swept him in a hug and laughed when he pulled back and David had tears in his eyes. “Pretty awesome, right?”

David didn’t even have words.

*

It wasn’t every break, but every few cities Cook found a way to kidnap him and to get him onto a stage. He performed for forty people in a packed coffee house in Vermont and to the ten crew members during sound check in Massachusetts. Somehow it didn’t matter. David loved the feeling of it, loved how relaxed he was and how confident he felt when it came to playing.

At one point (after a girl almost recognized Cook in Delaware) he even started playing the piano for himself. It was… a release he didn’t know he needed.

*

 

David was still half asleep when Cook came busting into the hotel room and landed with a thud on the bed beside him. It wasn't that rare of an occurrence actually; Cook was kind of a puppy like that.

"Hello," David slurred sleepily.

“Danny just told me that The Script got asked to Fallon at the end of the month."

David curled his legs up and into Indian style. He smiled and felt his chest warm. He had watched those guys work themselves so hard; they deserved more recognition. "That's awesome."

"I know," Cook said, one side of his lip curled up. “Which leaves me one opening band short for a night. Can’t be a rock star without an opener.”

Cook broke into a grin. His mouth split his face in an almost manic way, but he was so excited that David couldn’t help but smile back even if he had no idea why. Cook kept looking at him, eyebrow cocked like David _should_ know what he was thinking and he just wasn’t deciphering it.

“So you need an opening act…?” David repeated slowly.

Cook nodded emphatically, “Just one night, Glendale Arena. The 28th…”

“That’s where you opened the _Idol_ tour,” David pointed out (he wondered if he would ever stop being an _Idol_ nerd, he doubted it though). He changed the topic quickly. “Andy should do it, _To Have Heroes_ would be awesome.”

“I wasn’t thinking Andy,” Cook said, though his brows furrowed like maybe he should have.

When the sleep fuzz cleared and David put together what Cook was asking him, his eyes went wide. “Oh no, no no no no no.”

“Why not? It’ll be awesome! You did that thirty minute set a few weeks back. It’ll get you some good publicity. Just one night, come on man.”

David opened his mouth, then closed it and blinked. _Why not?_? Should he make a list? Did he need visuals? A powerpoint?

“I don’t even have an EP.” That was a good enough place to start.

Cook rolled his eyes. “You have three weeks and two tracks already laid down. The bus’ bathroom can work as a studio. Or the back. I’ll help, the boys’ll help. _Come on_. It’s your chance, Arch, you have to take it.”

There was no actual logic in that. David knew it. He could see that. But he could also see the look in Cook’s eyes telling him that it _could_ and that it _would_. His stomach was full of butterflies to a point where he was almost nauseated.

“The tour managers will never go for it,” he said feebly.

“Let me handle them.”

Some days David wished he could be in Cook’s brain for a minute, just to see what it was like when you could convince yourself anything was possible. David had lists, and his lists had bullet points that required review before big decisions. Cook apparently just required a whim and a general direction.

(That wasn’t true; David knew how hard Cook worked but sometimes he just… couldn’t wrap his brain around how Cook functioned.)

*

When after a week, Cook hadn’t said anything more about the crazy idea of him being an opening act, David relaxed enough to think that maybe even the Cook charm didn’t work all the time. The instant he saw the huge grin on Cook’s face, he knew that he had vastly underestimated him.

He was on the bus (when wasn’t he?) with a half finished melody tooling around in his head when Cook charged in.

“Who rules?” Cook asked, but shook his head. “No answer needed. I am King.”

David smiled, even if he was pretty sure he didn’t want to know what Cook was the King of. He swallowed around his nerves and shrugged. “King David was a great leader.”

“Not even close,” Cook winked. “Did he get you a spot as an opening act?”

“He killed Goliath,” David licked his lips, failing to avoid thinking about what Cook was actually talking about.

Cook laughed, the laugh he reserved for when David was saying something random or absurd. “Okay, he killed Goliath. I scored you a stage with adoring fans and the possibility of riches and fame. We both have our strengths and weaknesses.”

“Cook.”

“Archie.”

David was shaking, just a little. “Cook, thank you but… I don’t. I don’t… I _can’t_…”

“I’m not taking no for an answer here, Archuleta. You’re doing it. I’m not letting you hide the talent you’ve got.”

“I don’t have any songs really,” David felt a little flustered. “Not my own or anything.”

Cook frowned and hummed the bit of music that had been in David’s head a moment or so ago. David hadn’t even realized he had been humming it out loud. “What do you call that?”

“A thirty second melody with absolutely no lyrics.”

Cook ducked his head to kiss David, quick and chaste. “That’s what we’re here for. We’ve got two weeks, come on. Let’s get this done.”

David would have tried to fight it if it hadn’t been for the look on Cook’s face. He knew he should’ve just conceded defeat the moment Cook walked onto the bus.

*

The set list was short, incredibly so, but Cook assured him that that was okay. He promised him that he would do more for that night (which was kind of a relief; David hoped that it would make up for forcing himself on the crowd) and that he had had acts open for him with less experience. David didn’t exactly laugh at how ludicrous that lie was, but only because the constant butterflies in his stomach kept him from opening his mouth too much.

He spent the night before with his headphones on; not exactly awake but not really asleep. At about six in the morning, when the bus stopping made him jerk out of his almost dreams, he gave up and put on his running shoes. Even though it was barely May, Arizona didn’t get the memo and it was uncomfortably warm even in the early morning.

The area around Glendale Arena was pretty, if just a little bit more rural than he had been expecting (Phoenix was like the fifth biggest city in the U.S., he didn’t remember where he’d heard that but he knew it was true) and he ran past vast spaces of empty desert. His iPod played the music he was going to be singing that night over and over again, to the point that he could feel his running speed up and slow down to the rhythm.

By the time he returned to the bus Andy was in the front, looking a little sleep deprived but in the middle of his morning routine. (He had his laptop on the kitchenette table.) He looked at David with a frown.

“You find a pool?”

David looked down to where his grey shirt was drenched through with sweat, looked back up and half smiled. “Uh. I went running. It’s… kind of hot out.”

“We’re in the southwest, isn’t that kind of expected?”

David blushed, but was hopeful that the red face that usually accompanied exercise would hide it. He bit the inside of his cheek and looked towards the back of the bus. The shower was situated right where it would do the most damage sound wise and he couldn’t quite decide which was worse, the possibility of waking up the band or sitting in his own sweat until the last person woke up.

“I vote shower,” Andy disrupted his thoughts. “If you’re worried about them waking up. Shower. Neal could sleep through the apocalypse, Kyle’ll just go back to bed and Cook’s a little too gone for you to care if you wake him.”

Even if he still wasn’t so sure about the shower, David nodded and turned towards the back simply to avoid the knowing look he would get from Andy if he caught the silly grin on his face. Cook was ‘gone’ for him? Maybe he was gone for him, too.

When he passed by the bunks a hand shot out and startled him.

“OH MY GOSH,” he yelped, too stunned to resist being pulled inwards. Cook had a smile that split his face in two and ducked his other hand behind David’s neck to pull him into a pretty fierce kiss for that early in the morning. (David decided he didn’t care about Cook’s morning breath, even if he still kept _Wisps_ in his pocket to brush his teeth in the bunk every morning.)

When they finally pulled apart, Cook wiped a hand on his bunk sheets. “You _ran_ already? What time is it?”

“Like eight?”

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Cook didn’t need to wait for the answer. ”You should have woken me up, Archie.”

David frowned. “So we’d both be tired?”

From behind him Kyle’s voice interrupted whatever Cook was about to say. “If you guys are going to be disgusting, could you move back to the lounge?”

“_Sorry_,” David said, automatically putting space between him and Cook. “I’m going to… go. Um. Not be disgusting. I mean _shower_.”

Cook raised a lewd eyebrow.

“By _myself_.”

Cook frowned, but just before he made it to the bathroom he heard Kyle add. “Thanks!”

*

Sound check was just what he had seen Cook do a thousand times before, except this time it was him in the center of the stage and Cook sitting in the audience staring up at him. They brought a baby grand piano out onto the stage and it was almost enough for David to completely forget his nerves in favor of pure awe.

He wasn’t going to begrudge the convenience of a Casio with headphones plugged in but there was something… magical… about being able to play keys and feel the vibration below his fingertips. It made him feel more connected to what he was playing. More connected to music in general, like he was a part of something bigger than him… not that he would say that out loud.

The piano, though, reminded him of other pianos he had played on. The stand up piano that had probably cost his parents an arm and a leg; Christmases and family events… lazy Saturday afternoons where he played to calm his little sisters down or cheer them up. It reminded him of his Church and the feeling of playing and praying at the same time. Of a connection not just with music but with something greater than himself.

“Archuleta.”

David’s eyes snapped off the silent keys beneath his fingers and instead to Cook, who was suddenly just in front of him. It was obvious that he had let his mind wander and the look on Cook’s face made him think it wasn’t just one of his typical two-second mental safaris.

Cook’s hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he answered, but when he blinked he felt a tear he hadn’t actually known was there break free. “Um. Not entirely fine, apparently.”

Cook looked up at the wings of the theater, to where David would see the stage manager if he could bring himself to look. He held up a hand and spread out his fingers, mouthing, “Five.”

“Alright,” the stage manager’s voice came over the speakers. “That’ll be five.”

David didn’t know if he should thank Cook or point out that he was being totally unprofessional and that this was his first show and … yeah. He wasn’t the type to shirk his responsibilities. His dad taught him that. (‘Shake it off, Davey.’)

That thought didn’t actually help much.

Cook’s hand landed in his, a finger moving to take the mic off of his collar and pull the pack off of his lower back. There was possibly a moment of wrangling the mic (twisted all around him) off and then Cook forced him to his feet and to the backstage area. David had almost forgotten that Cook had played this place before but when they deftly ducked a group of people and went into a small room on the side he was reminded.

“You’re doing great,” Cook said. “Seriously. You’re doing awesome.”

It occurred to David that Cook couldn’t _actually_ read his mind and that his sudden stopping and _ohgosh_ tears probably came off as a panic attack. Which it was, but not really the one that Cook was expecting.

David, not for the first time, fumbled with the right words. “My… parents bought us a piano.”

Cook looked at him, not saying a word.

“It’s not like the one out there, but it was a big thing for us. A stand up piano. And it wasn’t for my siblings, though Claudia liked to play sometimes and Jazzy tried to do chopsticks but my mom said it drove her crazy. It was for _me_. And I taught myself to play.”

He stretched his fingers out, wiggled them and then balled them up into fists. “Music was mine. My mama said that I was a gift from the Heavens. That I was meant to share it.”

“That’s what you’re doing,” Cook said cautiously.

Which he knew, but he couldn’t explain why that didn’t comfort him. It was supposed to be this moment in his life that was special and perfect and it did feel that way… mostly. Somehow though, there was a huge gaping hole where his family should be.

There was just no way to explain it without hurting Cook’s feelings. He could see that. So he smiled and shrugged and tried his best to put on a happier face. He could tell Cook knew he was lying but Cook let him off the hook.

“We have a minute or so left,” Cook whispered conspiratorially and leaned down to kiss David.

David closed his eyes and enjoyed the moment.

*

The light of the stage was blinding, something that should’ve annoyed him but didn’t. He liked the idea that he couldn’t see past the first row, a group of kind looking girls who all had face paint that read “I ♥ DC”. Even with the din of noise that came towards him, he could just pretend that it was any other time he had done open mikes. It wasn’t like he hadn’t played in front of large crowds, but Star Search felt like a million years ago and he’d been way too young to properly know how embarrassing it could be.

“Good evening,” he said, way too close to the mike. He flinched at how loud his voice came off and backed away a few inches. “Um… sorry about that. Good evening. I’m… David Archuleta and um… I’m going to be playing a few songs for you tonight.”

There was a smattering of applause and even a few encouraging catcalls. The keys in front of him were familiar and he closed his eyes for a moment to ask for just a little bit of strength.

He knew where Cook was, even without looking back over his shoulder at the theater’s wings. He exhaled slowly and began to play. By the chorus of ‘Falling’ he completely forgot that the crowd even existed.

*

There wasn’t much time to think about the concert, except for the occasional charge of adrenaline David would feel when he was reminded of it. A newspaper in Arizona gave him a favorable review and all he could think was that that was what achieving a dream must be like.

He never would have thought that it would lead anywhere. The Script came back, life resumed and everything went back to normal. They were almost done with the American side of the tour and he had to admit he was ready to have some time to just spend with Cook and no one else.

But while they were goofing off one afternoon, a stagehand charged into the bus with a cell phone in hand.

“David,” the girl said, almost entirely out of breath. Cook reached for it with a look of worry but she shook her head and shoved it at David. “No, _David_.”

David took it from her and stared around at the other people.

“Um, hel-hello?”

“Mr. Archuleta?”

David just bit back a laugh because… well. He wasn’t _Mr._ Archuleta. That’s just weird. “I’m David.”

“I’m Abbey Konowitch,” the man’s voice was confident and succinct. “I represent Hollywood Records and I heard through a friend of mine that you have quite a voice.”

His toes curled and he felt himself flush. He couldn’t help but flick his eyes to Cook who was looking concerned. He forced a smile, even though he had no idea what was going on. “Um, thank you?”

Mr. Konowitch laughed over the line. “You’re welcome. I was wondering. Do you have representation?”

“Representation?” David looked over at Cook with wide eyes and if possible Cook’s were wider. “Not… n-not as of yet.”

He felt Neal’s hand smack him on the back and somewhere behind Cook, Kyle let out a hoot. (Cook turned around and smacked him, telling him through clenched teeth. “Shut up.”)

“When can you get to Burbank?”

“When can I get to Burbank?” he said, and started to feel like a parrot. Cook looked around a little and grabbed his net book, typing furiously. He turned the screen to show that Southwest.com could get him there in six hours if he needed to. “As soon as you need me?”

“Well good,” Mr. Konowitch sounded pleased. “Make it Monday, say around 2:30. I’ll have my assistant call you with more details. Bring a demo if you have one. Just three or four songs so I can send it around. Nothing big.”

David’s mouth gaped for a moment and before he could get the “thank you” out of his mouth he heard the tell tale silence of an ended phone call. He looked back at the phone, which said ‘Disconnected’, for all of a minute.

“What just happened?” Cook asked finally and David snapped back to reality to look at him again.

“Have any of you heard of Hollywood Records or Abbey Kono--- Konowitch?” he stumbled over the name and it was genuine. It wasn’t like he kept up with the record industry that much.

Cook typed in a few more words and then turned the screen back, “Like the one Disney owns?”

“Oh my gosh, _Disney_,” David put a hand up to his mouth. Neal and Andy laughed.

Cook leaned over and took his hand, “You just got a meeting with a guy who could change your life.”

‘_I already have_,’ was what he wanted to say but even David knew the line of TMI for the band. So instead he just blinked, wide eyed and still in a good amount of shock.

“I go in on Monday, I have a 2:30. I need to get a flight and pack. He wants… oh no. Oh …. Oh gosh. He wants a demo. I don’t have a demo. I DON’T HAVE A DEMO!”

*

“Excuse me, sir?”

David sprung to his feet and barely stopped himself from pummeling into the very nice looking secretary. His hands fidgeted on the strap of his messenger bag and he felt his stomach tense. “Um, yes? Sorry.”

She backed up, making space between them, and waved him towards the office. “Mr. Konowitch will see you now.”

“Thanks,” he smiled; the nervous energy he had felt for the last few days suddenly jumped to an entirely different level. His heart felt like it was a hummingbird in his chest and his stomach was lodged in his throat.

He fidgeted in his pocket for his cell phone but put it back before he stepped through the door. He’d shut it off in the waiting room, not sure whether it was polite or not, counterproductive and desperate not to make such a lame mistake early on.

Cook had googled Abbey Konowitch for David, so he knew what to expect from the man. He wasn’t that different in real life, wasn’t even that intimidating (thankfully). He was taller than David, but everyone was. He wasn’t too much taller though so that was a bit of a comfort. He offered his hand and David took it.

“Mr. Konowitch.”

He shook his head. “Call me Abbey. And you are the famous David Archuleta.”

“Um, not famous,” he blushed. “Just… um. Ar--David.”

But it was weird to think of himself as anything other than what he had been called for so long. The nickname that had kind of grated on him at first was a lot more comfortable than his actual name. He didn’t even know what that meant.

“You don’t sound so confident in that,” Mr. Konowitch--- Abbey smiled. “Are you sure you’re David, or just a stand in?”

David laughed uncomfortably and fidgeted from one foot to the other. Abbey moved to a chair behind a formidable desk and nodded towards the one David knew he was supposed to sit at. He swung his messenger bag onto his lap and instantly went for the strap.

It felt weird to hand over the burnt CD with his name and “DEMO” scrawled across it in giant red ink, and for a second he debated grabbing it back. Cook said it was normal, that most people did that. David thought it was unprofessional and just weird. Abbey didn’t seem to notice or care and took out the disc to put into his computer’s CD slot.

“So my man said you were incredible,” he offered, and David ducked his head. “Was it your first show? Kind of going all in with Glendale Arena.”

David’s tongue felt almost too big in his mouth. “No, um. I had… I did a few little open mikes. I … um. It was big? But you know when you get into it, it’s not that different. And Cook set it up. So… I didn’t really have time to worry about it much.”

He cut himself off when the music started. He still wasn’t completely comfortable with the backing vocals. They didn’t sound right, no matter how many times Cook or Andy had said it was “_good enough for now_” and he knew for a fact that the beat was just a little too low for his liking but it didn’t matter what he thought.

Abbey made a few noises that were somewhere between good and bad, pressed his pointer fingers against his upper lip. “When you say Cook you mean David Cook?”

“Yeah, David Cook,” David nodded; distracted by the way Abbey was tapping his fingers to the rhythm. He figured he might relax when it came to the music part of it but he was definitely wrong. Instead he felt like he was walking a tight rope across a very deep canyon.

“And he helped you with these tracks as well?”

_Tap, tap. Beat. Tap, tap. Beat._

David frowned as it took a minute for the question to sink in. “Yes? He and um… Andy Skib, Neal Tiemann, and Kyle Peek. They um. All helped out.”

Which actually meant they’d all done a ton of work that they didn’t have to do during hours they could have been resting. In the span of three days, David went from feeling like the tag-a-long boyfriend to … well. To a member of the group (if not the band). It was so far beyond the call of duty that David got a little choked up thinking about it.

“The acoustics leave something to be desired,” Abbey noted. “And the recording style is a little… well. Simple. But … you’ve definitely got talent.”

David let out a breath and his heart felt a little less like it was trying to escape his chest. He couldn’t help the smile that broke across his face. “Oh my gosh, _thank_ you.”

“But,” he turned in his chair to face his computer, eyes going back and forth across the screen and fingers crossing the keyboard, quick and deliberate. “If we are going to do this we are going to have to get you some actual studio time. First, I’ll have to get your lawyers to look over a contract before you sign. I can’t work you in for… a week or maybe two after that.”

“D-do what?” David blinked.

Abbey stilled, only moved his eyes to look at him. “If we’re going to try and get you somewhere we’re going to need to redo this demo.”

“Oh.”

“I assume you do want this?”

David nodded so quickly, it felt like he might have pulled a muscle in his neck. “Yes, I really, really want this.”

“Good,” Abbey smiled and went back to the page. “I’ll have you set up with a recording studio and place to stay. All you have to do is get back here in two weeks. You’ve got a lawyer, correct?”

David shook his head and then shrugged. “Maybe I can use Cook’s lawyer?”

He was reliable and kind and David had talked to him on more than one occasion.

“Let my office know,” Abbey said, obviously already checked out of the conversation. “I’d prefer it sooner rather than later.. Two week should work best.”

_Two weeks_, he thought. _We’re going to be in Canada in two weeks… They’re going to be in Canada in two weeks._

His smile was only half faked.

*

Even though he had a hotel room booked in Los Angeles for the night, he left the meeting and found the first taxi to the airport. He wondered if he was still processing it or maybe going through shock or something because the entire way back his brain was blessedly blank. Well, not entirely blank. A part of him was filled to the brim, but it was only a single-minded need to get back to the bus.

He knew that if he wanted to he could pick up the phone and Cook (even if he was in the middle of an interview or on the phone with his mom) would answer. Knew that when he told him he would get nothing but good cheer and happy thoughts. But all he could think, without question, was that he needed to be _near_ Cook. Right then, right that moment.

But of course when he got to the bus Cook wasn’t there. It wasn’t even six and between sound check, meet and greet and the show Cook wouldn’t be there for _hours_. It was a fact of the road that had been ingrained in David but he had forgotten it in the moment.

He wouldn’t let himself think about it. He was too old to pout. Instead he would… focus. On what he needed to get done: writing and organizing and planning. That was something he was an expert at, and even more, something that comforted him. He would focus on the nitty gritty later. (Like leaving the bus, leaving the tour and leaving Cook.)

*

David stared at the computer screen for a while, rubbed a soft circle at his chest, and wondered if it would go away if he blinked hard enough. He had been so busy for the last few weeks that he hadn’t let himself dwell on the ache of homesickness but in black and white text on a screen, it felt like the saved up weight had jumped onto him and was trying to crush him.

Neal walked onto the bus first, a sign that he had been staring longer than he’d thought. He had figured the show wouldn’t be over for another half an hour. He thought he had _time_ but obviously he didn’t. He pushed his sleeve across his face to get any of the tears he’d missed. Neal didn’t seem to notice.

“Knew you were coming back. Your boy’s got an interview,” he said, throwing a towel over his hair and rubbing back and forth. “But we’re all going out for food later on. Guess I’ll be the messenger, as that’s apparently part of my job now. Nice to know Cook won’t be pining tonight.”

He still couldn’t distinguish the difference between Neal kidding and not kidding but he wasn’t even trying. “Oh. Okay. Thank you.”

“You okay?” Neal asked, passing behind him. “Ah, bank statements. I feel you.”

David snapped his computer shut and moved it forward onto the table, the noise making Neal jump back a little. He flinched but couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty. At the moment he just felt tired and achy and so homesick that he couldn’t actually bring himself to open his mouth. He pointed towards his bunk and tucked his laptop under one arm and his iPod into his pocket.

Usually he got into his bunk and conked out so quickly that he didn’t remember what his surroundings looked like, but that night he looked around like it was a foreign place. He looked at the pictures he’d taped up, varying from him and Cook taking goofy pictures to his friends from high school sending him pictures from college. Interspersed were a few pictures of the crew with their hands up in false gang signs.

He tilted his head and frowned when he saw himself, always off to the side, always smiling but never quite belonging. Of course, that was the story of his life. He watched the smile on the picture and was actually kind of proud that you had to know him to see how forced it was.

One picture, half hidden, caught him completely off guard. It wasn't particularly a great photo; in fact it was pretty bad. His dad had tried to use the timer and include everyone so about half of the family was looking at the camera and half the family was looking at his dad. He made himself grab it and really look at it. Rather than just see it.

He ran a finger across his mom and each of his siblings before he finished with his dad. It was… a lingering pain. Like he’d stubbed his toe hard enough to bruise but not break. He inhaled and exhaled and found, to his embarrassment, that he was crying. He turned to make sure that the curtain was completely closed before he dug his head into his pillow and tried to let it all out.

*

He was awoken by the cool breeze of the curtain opening followed by a warm body pressed along his back. It took him a few minutes to put together where he was, _who_ that body was, and he froze with that weird sensation of nearly awkward comfortableness, that sense of belonging but not quite.

The pain that he had fallen asleep with was still there, his face warm and puffy with the tears that had followed but he had no idea how much time had passed. The bus was moving, so it had to have been at least long enough for things to be packed up and moved.

“Hey Arch,” Cook said from behind him. His lips were barely an inch from David’s ear and he could feel warm air along his neck. He was faced away so he couldn’t see him but he could imagine the look on his face. Warm and happy and just relaxed enough that maybe he could fall asleep if David would let him alone for long enough. “Good nap?”

David shifted down a little, putting himself directly into the position he would _never_ call spooning. It was comfortable though, let him warm up and relax a little when he was stressed out, it just made him feel…. Kind of _ridiculous_.

“I was out for a while?”

Cook laughed, “You could say that. Much longer and it would have just been a short coma.”

The problem with being in a bunk was that he didn’t entirely have a sense of time. He shifted around to his other side and checked his watch before looking up at Cook. “You let me sleep for two hours? Where are the guys?”

They were really close, so close that even just moving lips were brushing up against each other’s cheeks and chins. Cook shrugged. “They’re eating in the back, don’t worry I’ve got some in the fridge already. I can’t tell you it will be healthy, but it’ll be edible. We have to make it to Texas tomorrow. “

“Oh,” David said, not willing to even put up a fight. He leaned his head forward onto Cook’s shoulder and inhaled deeply. “Why aren’t you with them?”

“Neal said you looked pretty shitty,” Cook explained and David barely flinched against his neck. “Figured you might need to talk to someone. Hollywood Records a bust?”

David gnawed at his lower lip. “Not really. It went… well. I … I don’t want to talk about it yet though.”

Cook froze. “So you got home to a bad email?”

David shook his head into Cook’s shoulder.

“Facebook?”

Another shake of the head.

“Twitter?” Cook tried again, but this time sounded far more dubious than anything else. David didn’t mention that his family had, over time, said things that were probably mean through all of those venues but this was different.

He steeled himself, and tried for the most level tone he could. “I checked my bank account when I got back.”

Cook blinked at him slowly. “They… took out the money you had? That’s bullshit. You earned that. You worked all the time… they have no right to that. You earned that. D-don’t even worry. Money isn’t an …”

“My mom put money in my account,” he stopped Cook from going on. He was already aware of his dwindling dignity, the last thing he needed was to lose it all as a charity case. Cook froze for a ridiculously long time for the usually twitchy guy and just waited. “In the little box marked ‘description’ she wrote: ‘Por favor ven a casa.'

He felt the tears from earlier start up again and felt like such an idiot, but stared down at the simple silver ring on his finger to distract himself. (Though looking at a gift from his parents to avoid homesickness was counterproductive.) “It means, ‘Please come home.’”

He didn’t quite lose it, but instead he just buried his face in Cook’s shirt and let out a few choked off sobs. A while later, when he was no doubt quiet long enough to seem asleep but was actually just drowsing, Cook shifted to get out of the bunk. David bunched his hands together and shifted his face up towards Cook’s.

“Could you not?” he asked, half afraid of the answer. “I just don’t want to be alone.”

Cook nodded and moved back to where he had been, curved around David. Without another word, David put his head back down and Cook put a hand to rub small circles on David’s upper back.

*

David woke up unnaturally warm. He put his hand up onto his forehead, hoping that it wasn't a fever because he hated the doctor but when his hand hit skin he knew why. It was.... he was with Cook. Cook was beside him. And it was still dark out, and they still had clothes on, but he felt so insanely embarrassed that he couldn't think it through. His face was flushed and he kept finding himself replaying bits and pieces from hours before. He hadn't explained anything to Cook. He hadn't even _tried_ to explain anything to him and somehow he just felt so exposed and raw that he couldn't breathe.

He shifted just a little to look up and make sure he wasn't making anything up. Cook was out like a light, lips lax and his face so much younger when he slept. His hair was matted down and not in his usual ‘it took me twenty minutes to look this messy’ type of way but instead like he had shifted too much. It occurred to David that he probably shouldn’t have asked Cook to sleep in the same bunk as him.

For one, the bunks very rarely fit _one_ person, and for another, when he had said no sharing a bunk, he had had a _list_ for pete’s sake. Of all the things that he needed to get in order before he was ready for that kind of jump. It wasn’t like they had done anything… at all. Just it was a promise. And he wasn’t sure why his stomach churned at that idea but it did.

That was thrown out rather quickly though, because David found that he really kind of liked being cramped up in the small space. Liked the familiarity of a warm body and the steady beat of Cook’s heart under his ear and the way that while they had a blanket over them, he wouldn’t need it either way. It was comfortable, and though he woke up way too early (he’d get back to sleep, he knew it) he had gotten a far better night of sleep then he had in recent memory.

But his usual morning erection wasn’t just like, halfway there, it was _all the way there_. If Cook was awake (_Oh please lord, don’t let him be awake_.) it would be no questions asked as to what was going on. But Cook was so warm, and smelled amazing and it wasn’t like he didn’t want to do things with him. He was his _boyfriend_ after all. (Which still caught him off guard. They didn’t say it out loud much, even if _Star_ and _Extra_ loved to call him ‘Cook’s boyfriend’.)

He closed his eyes and tried to think of other things, of _bad_ things like paper cuts and stubbed toes and _paparazzi_. It helped for a second, maybe, but then Cook shifted to the left and let out a breath and it moved his hair and made him shiver and… it was totally counterproductive.

And Cook was the one closest to the outside so he couldn’t like roll out or slither (oh gosh) off to go somewhere else. He was totally stuck.

Would it be rude to wake him? (“Excuse me, Cook? Um. You need to move. Like now.”) But that wasn’t fair. Rude or not, he knew Cook’s schedule. He couldn’t wake him up when he was sleeping. He shifted again until there was at least a space between his problem and Cook, cause there really was no good to come of him and direct contact. It meant he was pretty awkwardly positioned and then he suddenly realized… um. Yeah. It wasn’t just his problem.

He bit his lip and felt completely incapable of rational thought. He knew about sex. He might’ve been young, but he wasn’t stupid. He didn’t exactly have the mechanics down, it wasn’t like his parents told him much more than ‘when a man and a woman are in love and married’ and in the Mormon church, there really wasn’t even the concept of ‘a man and a man fall in love and their government won’t let them get married even if they wanted to’.

Which… he didn’t. Um. Not that he liked to think about a future. But this was just… this was all kind of quick and not the point. The point was right then. Curled up with Cook all affectionate with a hand on David’s back and all attractive and he just. He didn’t know what to do. At all.

“Morning.”

Cook’s whisper made David’s head jerk upwards in a way that thumped the back of it against the padded wall of the bunk and he hissed a little, rubbed lightly at it and felt like a total fool.

“Um,” he said, and then lowered his voice when Cook lifted a finger. “Hey.”

Cook lifted the hand he had on David’s back to rub his eyes with his palm. “What time is it?”

“I…” David blinked. “I don’t know.”

Another movement, one that didn’t help his situation out one bit, and Cook had his iPhone in his hands. “Dear Lord, Archie, it’s five in the morning. Close your eyes, man.”

“I slept a lot last night,” David pointed out.

Then there was this weird silence. Not exactly quiet, the sound of tires below them and rustling of sheets, but neither spoke for long enough that he though Cook had gone back to sleep.

“So what do you want to do?”

"We could... um... go get some breakfast," David offered, his face crimson red.

Cook was obviously suppressing a laugh but seemed to give it a thought for a moment. "For one thing, I'm not sure where we are, and for the other I can tell you for a fact that no one else on the bus is awake."

"Hopefully the driver?" David feebly tried for the joke and could feel Cook's rumbling laugh through the hand on his chest. He wanted to make sure he didn’t do that again but then again he totally wanted to feel that as much as possible.

"Look Arch," Cook smiled that relaxed smile he only used in interviews. The one that made David queasy rather than comforted or happy; it was pandering and David knew it. "I could move to my bunk and no one would notice."

That was a lie. They were with Cook on the way when he walked in. They knew that he was _occupied_…Oh gosh. What if they thought that they were doing things? David felt himself blush from the base of his neck upwards.

But then again what if he _wanted_ them to notice? That wasn't a question he was actually ever going to ask. Like ever ever. But it was true. It wasn’t like they didn’t know they were dating, they had been for a while. It wasn’t _wrong_to want to be with guys you date. Not that David had that much experience with that. But after months of living in close proximity maybe he was curious.

He stretched a little, like a cat and curved his back just so that his body touched Cook in all the right places and gave a mental victory dance when Cook seemed to lose whatever line of thinking he had been on and his eyes glazed over. It felt good to David too, it really did. And maybe he was just a bit on the 'ready' side of curious after all.

"You aren't playing fair," Cook said, voice deep and low from his throat.

David inched back involuntarily and blushed, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to um… I was just thinking about this and then I thought maybe. But if you don’t think we’re ready. I get it… I mean. It’s only been a few months and I don’t want you to think like… I‘m …”

He was cut off by Cook’s rumbling laughter again and a hand on his mouth. “Listen up Archie, I don’t think I could call you a floozy even if I tried. So don’t worry. I just don’t want you to do anything you aren’t ready for. I’m willing to let you set the boundaries.”

David relaxed a little and when Cook removed his hand he put his head back on his chest. He was sure he wouldn’t be able to say what he wanted to say to his face. “What if I’m ready to change some of the boundaries?”

“Well then,” Cook tensed a little. “You sure you’re sure?”

David pressed his palm up and put on the most annoyed look he could muster towards Cook. (Not very annoyed at all.) “Do I need to write a letter of intent?”

Cook was still laughing when David pushed himself up and gave him a kiss, disregarding the scratchiness of Cook’s beard. It wasn’t anything new, they kissed every day and sometimes even went further than that but there was something thrumming underneath, this undercurrent of want on both sides. They didn’t have much wiggle room, as it were, but David moved on top of Cook, which gave them a little more space.

Once Cook had two free hands David lost track of just where they were. There was a hand brushing along his back and one on the side of his hip playing back and forth with the top of his pajama bottoms. His skin felt oddly warm and yet Cook’s hands felt warmer and all he could focus on was the urge for _more_.

He tugged off his shirt, which inelegantly and painfully jammed his elbow into the wall. “Darn it.”

“Shh,” Cook breathed, a mixture of a laugh and a sigh against his skin. “People sleeping.”

A weird thrill shot through him at the thought, one he wasn’t sure was good or bad. He put up a finger up to his mouth to show that he would be quiet and then couldn’t help but let out a (thankfully small, contained) laugh. Cook leaned over and caught him in a kiss. The huge fear that he was about to do something monumental and the smaller one that he might screw everything up in the process quickly faded as they both got caught up in the moment.

*

When the bus stopped for food a few hours later David was _sure_ that everyone could tell exactly what had gone on. He knew it should bother him or at least embarrass him but the smile on his face felt like it was stuck on with perma-glue. He stuttered the one time that Cook reached under the table and put his hand on top of David’s thigh but then he realized that Cook _always_ did that and he … relaxed.

“Alright,” Neal frowned at Cook halfway through their meal. “What’d you do?”

David froze mid-bite and beside him Cook tensed but David only noticed through touch and was sure no one could see it. He smiled at his band mates. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Tiemann.”

“You have that shit eating grin that freaks me out,” Neal looked at him through a suspicious glare. “Like you got away with something. I swear man, if you switched out the soap with Nair or something I am not even going to hesitate to retaliate. I don’t care if you’re the pretty face… it’ll be _war_.”

Cook released the tension and chuckled evilly. “Come on, Nair? I’m like a ninja, why would I pull something that lame?”

“Ninja?” Andy interjected. “Up until last year you still put our hands in water while we slept.”

“Worked, didn’t it?”

David bit into his chicken sandwich and looked out the window, trying his best not to look any of the guys directly in the eye.

*

It wasn’t like David wasn’t going to tell Cook about the offer on the table, really, but it was a hard to work it into conversation. The first day was mostly on accident, there were other things on his mind and he couldn’t be blamed for being _distracted_. The second day was filled with talks of what the band would do next, something David wasn’t a part of so he made himself scarce. It was the third day when it started to be a deliberate action.

Cook didn’t seem to notice, thankfully. The days moved on with the regular blur of city, show and pack up until it was almost a week and half way till he had to go back to LA and actually make a CD. (Every time he thought about it like that his stomach did a weird flip thing.)

“Do you have a passport?” a harried looking Hills asked, eyes glued to the checklist in front of him.

David, who had been watching Cook rehearse from off stage, paused. “Um… I … think my mom has it?”

Which, admittedly, sounded just plain lame out loud but didn’t warrant him a glance apparently. “We’ll contact her then.”

“Wait, why?”

Annoyed eyes flashed up at him. “So we can leave the country for tour.”

His stomach leapt to his throat in a wave of nausea. _Leave the country?_ followed closely by _contact my MOTHER?_ He didn’t get a chance to call out and stop Hills, Cook tumbled off the stage in a mess of sweat and laughter and he got swept up in a hug.

“Come on Archie,” Cook smiled, ignoring or unaware of David’s tense shoulders. “I need some food and I need it _now._”

David swallowed and nodded. Sure of what he had to do but not exactly how he was going to say it.

*

Cook had ended up being surprisingly cool about it. When David had said he wasn’t sure what he was going to do he was told he was going to make a CD, quite firmly but somehow that just made him entirely less sure about what to do. He said he needed time to think, avoided admitting the fact that he had an entire week of thinking under his belt.

With the time mark of getting back to LA and the two emails he got from Mr. Konowitch’s personal assistant this was easier said than done.

David was going a little stir crazy. It wasn't like he had room to talk, everyone was in the same place as he was. They were all at _work_ to boot, which was probably pretty miserable. Though... there was a part of him that wished he could be working. But he wasn't, not really. He sold shirts. That was his job. That took all of three hours; he wasn't even responsible for putting things up and taking them down. Not that he wasn't really thankful for the opportunity because who wouldn't want to be in his place at that moment?

He was off track again.

It was just that he was supposed to be doing _something_, but there was nothing for him to do. And to say he was bored would probably be a nice way to put it. He was beyond bored. He was mind numbingly bored.

He put the magazine in his hand down and then twitched a little. He wasn't sure what state they were in or when any of the guys were coming back. He let his legs dangle over the side of the bed and curled his toes up in his socks and then stretched them out.

A thought struck him so suddenly that he pushed himself forward and knocked his head on the top of the bunk bed and had to rub at it for a minute to keep from seeing stars. Then, when he got his bearings, he went to his duffel and rifled through it for a minute before he found what he wanted. He stared happily at his beat up sneakers, the ones he had thrown in at the last minute.

He had his stretchy work out pants on as pajama bottoms and though he had no idea what the temperature was like outside he grabbed his hooded sweater to put his essentials in (keys to the bus, iPod, ID, cash and his cell phone). He passed by one of the security guys and gave him a huge smile.

“Hey Darren,” he waved.

“Where you going?” Darren frowned dubiously. David always wondered if Darren even considered him one of the guys that needed protection or just a kid who needed to be watched in general.

He pointed to his shoes, “For a run.”

Darren smiled, “Have a good one.”

The feel of his feet hitting the pavement was the ultimate form of therapy for David. He didn’t know exactly how it had started but from the time he was little, he could almost always find peace when he was allowed to really run. He was okay, if not entirely satisfied, with treadmills but there was just something different about actual concrete. It was… like a form of prayer to him. (Not that he would say that out loud, he knew how crazy that came across.)

On a whim he put on the playlist that Cook had made for him a few weeks ago and laughed as the first song started. It still baffled him that the ‘rock star’ most knew had such a random collection of music. And though he hardly agreed with the morals of the song, he did have to admit that ‘Waking up In Vegas' was one addicting song to run to.

Three days ago Cook announced a European leg of his tour, making David go over and over in his mind what his options were. His lack of relationship experience aside he could see the next three moves ahead of them. He could see what the distance would do to not only them but to their relationship, their careers. He saw Cook working himself ragged and still trying to make it back to see David and he saw himself doing the same. And somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew he couldn’t do it.

He loved Cook. It was as simple and complicated as that. He loved him more than he loved anything in his life and the concept of losing him made his stomach churn. But the concept of losing music, just when he was really starting to feel confident in it again was just as nauseating. He stopped mid stride and paused to look around. He had no idea where he was but he got the feeling he was pretty far gone. He turned himself around and headed back to the bus with no more clarity than he’d had when he left.

He found Cook on the couch in the front of the bus, his face trained on the table and hands spread over some papers. It looked like maybe he wasn’t the only one who had done some thinking that afternoon.

"Where've you been?" Cook asked, his voice just as unreadable as his face.

David sat down on the edge of the couch, oddly aware of how separate they were. "Went for a run to clear my head a bit."

"Yeah," Cook had a small smile. "Shoes and smell, dead giveaway."

He could feel the tips of his ears getting warmer and he shifted with the hope of getting a whiff of what he smelled like. Cook laughed and he relaxed a little. "I do not smell."

"Not bad," Cook shrugged. "But made you look."

"You're sure you're twenty six, right?"

"Yep, just hanging around a guy who makes me feel like I'm younger than I really am."

David looked away again, his lower lip in his mouth and his smile mostly faked. The feeling in the pit of his stomach had yet to ebb even a little and he wasn't sure what he was going to say, were he to actually try and say anything. The banter they had was easy enough, but even that could only last so long. He rubbed at one of his calves and winced when he felt the beginning of a painful spasm.

Dang it, he should have stretched.

“Give me that,” Cook said, and David was stock still for a second. “Didn’t stretch?”

Something unlocked in his chest and David wished that it wouldn’t just ache like that. But the fact that Cook remembered the stupid things he said and that he never made fun of him for it but instead he _helped_, still made him feel… well. Inexplicably warm. He even stepped back to the bunks and grabbed the bottle of ben gay from the side of his pack.

David couldn’t keep his eyes off of Cook.

The persona he had on stage, the guy most people got to see, was one version of Cook. Loud and crazy and the life of the party. His Cook, this one, wasn't. He was seriously making sure to get every action right. He rubbed from the toes up and when he got to the ankle, he shifted to make sure that the pain was lessened with elevation. It was just so tender and loving. It made him want to lean down and kiss Cook senseless or maybe cry. But he didn't. He just... _watched_ all the way until he was done and then he got up (putting his hurting leg down gingerly but noticing that the pain was already far less than when he got there.

He grabbed Cook by one arm and looked down the bus, "Anybody here?"

"They're all at the hotel," Cook said, resisting the grip on him.

"We've got the place to ourselves," David tried to give his most alluring smile but even without a mirror he could still tell it wasn't the right one. He tried again, "Come on. _Please_."

A small part of him disliked the use of manipulation the rest of him had used, but it got him what he wanted, which was Cook standing up and following David to Cook's bunk. Cook pulled him into a hard and fast kiss, but pulled back with a thoughtful frown.

"We could go to the hotel," Cook pointed out and not for the first time since David had gotten back, it sounded like a tease. Definitely in the right direction, he could feel it.

*

After, when David lay on his side pressed against Cook, he couldn’t quite remember the feel of panic he’d had earlier. He had goals, sure, but in that moment he had happiness, the kind of happiness that he hadn’t actually felt in forever. He inhaled the smell of sweat, skin and hair gel, all a perfect mixture of Cook. He was in the moment and the moment felt … perfect.

“Hey Arch?” Cook asked, a hand landing on his back.

David’s eyes had been half closed but he made a noise to prove that he was still awake.

“You should do the demo.”

He’d learned his lesson of jetting his head up in a small bunk (after more than one embarrassing bump on the back of his head), but he moved his head so that Cook could see his frown. “What?”

“The demo,” Cook repeated, and stroked David’s back. “You should do it. You… _have_ to.”

David was flabbergasted, without even enough words to ask him what that was supposed to mean. They hadn’t actually talked about it in days, David mostly out of avoidance and Cook out of respect for David’s avoidance. He put his head back down and shook it, just once, but with no doubt as to what he meant.

Cook didn’t relent. “You should. It’s a once in a lifetime thing, man. This is… it’s a big deal. And you’ve got the talent. You’ve got more than enough talent.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“That’s bull and you know it,” Cook’s voice went deeper and David felt it rumble through his fingertips on Cook’s chest. “Don’t make your decisions based off of me, it isn’t fair to you and it sure as hell isn’t fair to me.”

The way the words sounded made David feel sick to his stomach, the hand he had on Cook’s chest curled into a loose fist. “So you get to make my decisions for me?”

He would have never been able to say that out loud a few months before, and even in that moment he had to keep his eyes trained anywhere but Cook’s face. Cook was still except for the hand that was still rubbing wide circles on his back. He was silent for a while, probably made infinitely longer by the awkward air between them.

“I’m not making this decision for you,” Cook offered. “I’m just saying that you _should_ do it. Not that you have to.”

A part of himself that David wasn’t proud of started to regress, and in the matter of a few moments he wasn’t the 20 year old guy he knew himself to be but rather the 18 year old Cook had met. “Are you… are you breaking up with me?”

Cook’s silence was an answer, he guessed. He grabbed back all of the skin that was touching Cook, like it burned to be in contact with him. The only problem being, of course, that he was backed against the wall of the bunk… nowhere to go. He finally met Cook’s eyes and saw a weary expression.

“I don’t _want_ to break up,” Cook said, and it should’ve comforted him to hear the pain in Cook’s voice, but it didn’t. “I just refuse to stand in your way here. I’m going on tour and you’re going to be in the studio. And after that who knows where we’re going to be. You got to be realistic here, David.”

His first name coming from Cook sounded just about as wrong and surreal as the rest of this conversation. For a moment he expected (hoped?) that this was a lame practical joke or maybe a bad dream. That he would wake up on the floor of the bus, having fallen out in his sleep. (It would explain the way he couldn’t seem to catch his breath.)

“Realistic?” he parroted. His voice was an octave higher than it really should’ve been. “What about long distance? We have phones, emails, Skype… we could do this. _Realistically_. Right?”

Cook wouldn’t look him in the eye. “Long distance doesn’t work. Trust me.”

The butterflies in David’s stomach turned almost instantaneously to lead. Cook had, after all, had a hugely publicized relationship right after _Idol_. Kim. Kim was his long distance and that relationship barely made it to the New Year.

He wanted to cry, but couldn’t quite get himself to. He licked his lips and wished he was on the other side of the bunk, so that he could escape. He needed to… to go. Somewhere… _anywhere_ other than right there. But he couldn’t shift an inch in either direction, let alone run away. He blinked at the sting in his eyes and ducked his head towards the wall.

“Archie. I didn’t mean… I don’t want to hurt you here. This is what’s best, trust me.”

David felt something snap, could feel the final straw land on the camel’s back. He glared at Cook. “Do I get a choice?”

To his credit, Cook seemed to consider that for a minute. They stared each other down and if David was reading it right, Cook was looking for something in his face. (If only he knew _what_.) He just kept looking, hoping what he was doing could just knock some sense into Cook. He wasn’t Kim. He was … well. He was _in love_ with Cook. That’s what the tight feeling was, the pain and ache at the thought of losing him. He loved him. And Cook had to see that that made everything different.

But then again a thought struck him, Andrew telling him not to let Cook do something stupid. Cook wasn’t doing anything stupid. He was being rational and adult. The feeling of not mattering made him feel a punch to his gut but he nodded and tried not to cry right then and there. He had his dignity or what was left of it. He swallowed hard.

“We can be friends,” he said, even if he was pretty sure he didn’t mean it. “We _should_ be friends.”

He turned over and faced the wall again, mostly to avoid the chance that Cook would see the tears that streamed down his face. He curled up, just a little more than usual, half regretted the fact that his bunk had transitioned to the storage bunk over the last two weeks.

“Arch,” Cook whispered behind him. “Come on, look at me.”

David steadied his voice. “I’m tired. I … we can talk about it tomorrow?”

He closed his eyes and pretended to fall asleep, but rather waited until Cook’s breathing regulated before opening his eyes and staring at the wall in front of him.

*

For the first time in the time that they’d shared the bunk, David woke up alone. He put his hand down on the pillow beside him and let out a long sigh. A note would have been a little too much like a romance movie but the fact that the bus was stopped didn’t actually fill him with that much positive energy. He swung his legs out and the resulting thud echoed. The whole bus was empty. He couldn’t remember if they had a group meeting or interview that day but it seemed pretty serendipitous.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he could hear his grandmother’s voice telling him to “rip the band-aid off”. He grabbed the bag he had always kept mostly packed in his bunk and the backpack he had brought with him to LA the week and a half before and streamed off the bus. Darren was there, he was always there, and looked at David with little emotion on his face.

“What are you doing?”

David couldn’t look him in the eyes but instead pulled at the strap of his backpack on his shoulder. “Could you call me a taxi? I need to get to the airport."

Darren’s lips twitched down. “Heading to Los Angeles earlier than you thought?”

He swallowed around the lump in his throat and nodded.

*

When he showed up in LA he had thought that it would provide him with time to settle in. As it was, though, there was not much when it came down to that. His apartment was furnished, sterile and bare but furnished. What little he had in his bags were unpacked and rearranged before his first night was over. He felt... stagnate and twitchy and ever single time he had time to pause his brain wandered back to places he didn't want to go.

A trip to the grocery store and to Target warranted a little life into the bare space but ultimately left him feeling even less like he was at home. His fingers lingered over the speed dial to call Cook, thought about their conversation of taking a break to get their heads on straight and then thought better of it. If he couldn't make it twenty four hours without instantly calling Cook to solve his problems he was sure to look like a complete fool.

It was just that... he hadn't ever really been alone. Had gone from family living, to roommate living and then finally to the bus where there had always been a bustle of people. The apartment, however small and cramped, felt like an empty jail cell more than a home and not for the first time he felt lonely in a way that he couldn't quite place.

He broke down and called his mom the second morning, but as soon as she heard his voice he knew it was the best thing he had done. Shortly after he realized that there was no use trying to hide anything from her. She busted out the prayers and the saints names in spanish and by the end of the phone call he had the confirmation code of the earliest Southwest flight to get him home.

He would have fought it and said he was okay, but he had never been good lying to his mom.

*

When he showed up at his parents' doorsteps it was only himself and his mom, and they both cried. The younger ones were at school, Claudia and his father were at work. It gave him time to just be near his mother though, and he wasn’t going to complain about that. She clucked her tongue at his weight, or lack there of, and made him a lunch fit for the whole family, not just him.

He met the various animals running around the house and went to the bedroom that used to be his and Daniel’s but was now covered in Daniel’s stuff, with just his bed and a few things stuffed in the corners. It was almost like going to a museum, but this time it was his past … not some huge historical event. It was odd, not in a good way or in a bad way … just in a way that made his skin feel a little too tight for his body. (Or maybe that was the insane amounts of food that his mother had insisted he finish.)

As his family started to trickle home he got varying reactions. Jazzy and Amber got home first and jumped on him and wouldn’t let go for a whole minute, Daniel looked at him like he was an alien. Claudia’s eyes crinkled up just like their mother’s had and to save himself from crying again, he squeezed her as tight as he could and whispered a plea for her not to start it, too.

In the hour and a half since David had seen his father, his dad had looked at him a grand total of three times. Once when he was given the awkward hug that was all but mandated by his mother's glare, once when he sat down on the couch about half way through a football game and asked what the score was, and once when he started to say a prayer over dinner. It wasn't like he should be counting, but it was like a weight on his shoulders as time went on.

His siblings, who aside from Claudia seemed to have jumped ahead four years in the months since he’d last seen him, were either deliberate in ignoring him or still too young to notice. It was oddly surreal in its familiarity, like one of those pictures where he would have to circle what was wrong. (The worst part was that the only thing that seemed out of place would probably be him.)

"Then I asked Claire's mom to bring over her baby brother," Amber was babbling. "I like babies. So cute and tiny. He looked like Claire!"

David wanted to say that he remembered when Amber was tiny and brand new and looked just like Jazzy, but he didn't. He couldn't seem to bring himself to actually talk in the room. It wasn't like he’d ever been the loud one in his house but he wondered if he was always awkwardly out of his depth with his own family. He caught Claudia's eyes from across the table and she frowned, like, 'It isn't that bad' or maybe 'could you try?' and he flushed and shrugged.

"I got my permit!" Daniel interjected awkwardly and maybe it wasn't just him that noticed the tension. His brother getting his driver's permit was beyond weird.

“When did that happen?”

Daniel grimaced, “While you were _gone_.”

A long full beat where everyone just stared from person to person.

"Could you pass the bread please?" David squeaked more than asked, just hoping to cover up the way he wanted to get up and run. His mom beamed at him like he asked her to take him to church and handed him the basket.

She looked around at all of her children and internally sighed, a look David had been able to recognize from the time he was little. "So Davey, how is the recording going?"

David hadn't really thought his family would really bring any of that up and was just caught off guard enough that he had to retrace his last few days. "Well, I actually haven’t started? I figured it would get busy and I … I wanted to see you guys. So I flew here first. But I finish the demo soon and then Mr. Konowitch is going to start shopping it around to agencies and then um. We're going to go from there."

"That sounds exciting mijo," she smiled and they both ignored the noise of discontent from his dad. "You wrote the songs yourself?"

David ducked his head, "Only two of them, actually. Cook and Neal helped with a few and Mr. Konowitch had one he thought was perfect for me."

The second grunt from his dad he couldn't quite ignore, and he flinched and turned towards where his dad's face was a light shade of red. He wasn't meeting David's eyes.

"What?" David asked, looking at his dad and then to his mom. "_What_?"

His mom looked at her husband. "From your phone call ... well... We thought we wouldn't be hearing about um... him anymore from you."

He sat back in his chair. "Cook?"

"Yes," she said, “We thought you two had … parted ways.”

“We… did. I mean. Kind of.”

“You don’t talk about ex-boyfriends,” Daniel said, with a grumble. “It’s part of the rules of breaking up with someone.”

He looked at his brother, who was staring down at his plate like it was going to start a fight. “We’re still friends.”

Which was a blatant lie. They hadn’t talked since he left the tour bus, he couldn’t think about it and the last time was just as stilted and uncomfortable as this dinner was turning out. But… they _hadn’t_ broken up entirely, specifically to avoid any and all awkwardness.

“I can still talk about my friends, right?”

He had started to feel itchy in his own skin, like maybe he needed to take a walk or a shower. He wasn’t sure what the resentment was about. Cook was… had been… one of his _best_ friends. And he had gotten to places he had never thought he’d ever see. He was on the way to making a name for himself in LA and even if he DIDN’T go anywhere, it just didn’t seem to matter as much as knowing where he had come from.

He felt his mom’s hand land on his arm and when he looked at her with just that last shred of hope, she brought his hand up to her cheek. She looked so sad that his first instinct was to just bring her into a hug. “You may talk about whoever you want, David. We had just been hoping he was more of a phase than anything.”

“A phase?” he hadn’t realized he was choked up until he heard his voice come out weird and strained. “Mama, he wasn’t just a ph…. He wasn’t… and. Even if _he_ was a phase. I’m not. I’m… still _me_, Mama. I’m not going to j-j-just ‘straighten up and fly right’.”

He could feel tears prickle at the back of his eyes and he was just annoyed with himself enough that he could keep them back a little longer. His mother was looking at him with a mixture of sadness and fear and … Lord help him … pity. He couldn’t take it. He stood up and placed his napkin on his plate, grabbed his glass of milk, and walked back to the kitchen.

He could hear the silence from the other room even while he cleaned off the dishes and dried them himself, but he wasn’t storming out of there. He was leaving like an adult. (At least that was what he was deciding to do.) And any adult raised right wouldn’t burden their hostesses with extra cleaning. He grabbed the bag that was still by the front door and started down the front steps before he heard someone come out the front door.

“David,” there was definitely a note of panic in his mother’s voice. “Come back, please.”

He paused mid-stride, wondered if on any planet he would be able to not break at the sound of his mother like that, but sent a prayer up for strength. He turned around to find her on the porch with her hands wrung together nervously.

“Can I please…” his mom started, and she sounded so soft that David had to bridge the few feet between them faster just so he could hear her. “Can we please talk? For just a moment, I promise you.”

To his total shock, his mother (who never let herself get messy) sat down on the edge of the top step. She looked up at him like she expected something but all he could muster was a long stunned stare.

“Mama, there’s snow and mud.”

“Sha, how does a little snow and mud hurt? I’ll live,” she smiled, and patted the seat next to her until David reluctantly joined. (It was, as he’d imagined, cold and wet.) The moment his mom’s hand made contact with his and their fingers twined, he lost the fight for the little dignity he had left and a few tears fell down his face. His mom took their clasped hands and kissed the back of his a few times. “Oh _Mijo_.”

David ducked his head into his mother’s shoulder and exhaled. “I feel so conflicted.”

“What about?” she asked as she rubbed at his shoulders, the simple act bringing him back to a thousand times in his youth. It was always odd how no matter how long they had been separated or what had happened, she would always jump into the role he needed.

He bit his lip, watched as his breath puffed out in front of him. The weather was definitely not like Los Angeles at all; the thought almost made him laugh out loud. He couldn’t help but think it wouldn’t be that much help in this situation. He tried to get his mind arranged well enough to get his points across with minimal collateral damage, but when that failed he just talked.

“I know who I am. I know who I want to be. Sometimes… sometimes I’m not sure I’m on the right path. I love my job. I love Los Angeles. But I love you and miss you all.” He had to take a few long breaths, afraid of what he had to say next. He lifted his head and looked her in the eyes. “But I will never be who I was, mama. I can’t change it now. I can’t and I _won’t_.”

Something flashed in his mom’s eyes that he couldn’t catch in the yellow porch light. She was stock still for a moment and when she finally moved it was to release a whispered prayer in Spanish. (That usually wasn’t the best sign, but she comforted him with a pat on the back of his head.) “Oh David, I have failed you.”

“Wha--?”

“I look at you and I see my Davey,” she cut him off. “My little boy. But you are not. I should have seen that. You must forgive me mijo, but it is hard to reconcile the adult you are with the boy I knew.”

David licked his lips and instantly regretted it, the cool Utah air making his lips feel even more chapped. “I’m still me… just. I grew up.”

“And you didn’t even need me to help you do so,” she said and the look she gave him made his chest hurt even more.

He wondered when the schism of who he was at 18 and who he was now had happened. Surely not when his mom had dropped him off at BYU, as for months he’d still been the little awkward boy from his childhood. Not even when he met Cook, as he left BYU still too young and awkward.

It made him ache to think that it was when he wasn’t with Cook that he’d grown the most. Made him feel like the relationship hadn’t been what he’d thought it was, but he forced himself to face it. In the long run he had to grow up by himself, which was the way it had to be, he guessed.

His mom squeezed at his hand and he looked over to find a look he couldn’t place on her face. “I needed to grow up by myself, mom. You gave me everything I needed.”

Her face squeezed together, a few tears leaking out before she whispered something that wasn’t meant for David to hear. “I can’t tell you that I understand what is going on nor that I am comfortable with it.”

“I know,” he said, even if the thought made his stomach churn.

“But,” she took his face in both of her hands. “I will never stop loving you and I will always be proud. There is just one thing you must promise me.”

David didn’t hesitate. “Anything.”

“You can’t leave me for this long again. I missed you.”

The lump in his throat made it hard to really get out what he wanted to say so instead he swallowed once and nodded. “Never again.”

“Good,” she grinned, the pain from a moment before gone from her face. “Now let’s go inside. It is cold and I need to change my clothes, I am filthy.”

David couldn’t hide the laugh. The truth was that the warmth he felt from the conversation overshadowed any of the cold from the night. It was worth it to just be there with his mother.

*

An hour later he sat cross-legged on the floor, a controller in his hand and Jazzy beside him screaming at the TV for Peach to “GO, GO, GO.” He didn’t hide the smile on his face as he lapped his sister. In the past his sister had (embarrassingly) been the one to whip him at video games but between the tour bus and just goofing off with the band, he had gotten pretty good. He stuck his tongue out and bit down to concentrate on the part of the level where he had to avoid the lava.

“Mooooom,” Jazzy whined. “He’s cheeeeating!”

His mom, from her perch on the couch, looked up from her book and frowned. “How is he cheating?”

“He’s…” she started. “He’s _cheating_.”

“I am not,” David insisted, but slowed down just a bit to give her a chance to catch up. Claudia clucked her tongue from behind him but he ignored it. He liked the way Jazzy smiled when she caught up a little bit. He liked the fact that this was familiar and his and like the old times. (Except for the fact that his brother and father weren’t in the room… it wasn’t worth it to worry about that. Baby steps, he guessed.)

*

Besides his father, who refused to talk to him, and his brother, who seemed to follow his father’s lead, he left Utah two days later with a much lighter load on his back. His mom, Jazzy and Amber all took him to the airport (Claudia had to go back to work) and kissed him on the forehead and asked him to ‘Call, _please_.’ His sisters insisted that he Skype them, because they had so many important things to tell him that they needed him to _see_.

He told them all that they would, and he meant it. He needed his family like he needed air. He was shocked at how long he’d lasted.

There was something that seemed to ease the loneliness a little when, at the end of a recording or editing session, he opened his cell phone and saw a missed phone call or a text. (The texts were only from Claudia, his mom never could quite figure them out and he was okay with that.) He hadn’t yet deleted any of the silly texts that Cook had ever sent him, but soon they were at the very bottom of a long list, which helped.

As for the Skyping, and the “important things” he had to see, he spent lots of nights watching pets that Jazzy and Amber were convinced knew ‘tricks’ (which they didn’t) and dance routines that he used to watch in person when they were little. He smiled his way through them all and applauded while they bowed. His mom would talk to him like they were just on the phone, but it felt good to just see her face and her smile every now and then.

Claudia liked to send him emails when she could, jokes that always made him laugh and pictures of her and her college friends being silly and crazy. She _also_ liked to send him gossip, which he could have done without.

*

To: darchuleta@gmail.com  
From: carchuleta@benedictine.edu

_Blind item_

If you see this pretty rocker out and about, he might seem like he’s having fun but take a closer look behind the façade. A reliable source puts this man off of his pedestal and in the dumps for his lost forbidden love. Partying just a bit too much and paying for it the next day and the next show. Someone's got to go to La-la land and get back his boy-toy quick.

*

When he got the email from Claudia, he didn't get it. David had never been a fan of Blind Items in general, too annoyingly vague or blatantly obvious in turns, but that one in particular just got under his skin. Finally, after trying to just ignore it for a while, he had to pick up the phone and call her.

"Any reason you are sending me gossip?"

Claudia clucked at him, something he wished she hadn't picked up from their mom. "Come on, Davey. Seriously?"

"What?" David furrowed his brows.

"David James... It's Cook. Pretty rocker being knocked _off his pedestal?_ Like an idol’s pedestal?"

Oh … oh gosh. Okay. He wasn't that thick, he could see it... he just didn't want to. He let out a long sigh. "We didn't really break up and he isn't in the dumps."

"You are _such a boy_ sometimes."

"I _am_ a boy."

His sister laughed across the line. "A _boy-toy_."

He flushed from his toes to the tips of his ears. "Oh my gosh, CLAUDIA."

*

Somehow, somewhere, he finished the CD and Hollywood Records decided to _release_ it. Like, to the public and everything. It was, at the same time, the best moment of his life and completely terrifying.

The CD, which had started as a demo and even before that as just noodling around with a group of his friends (a group he hadn’t talked to in … too long) was going to be sold to large groups of people, with his name on it. He was so proud that the first thing he could think to do was call Cook, but before he hit send, it occurred to him that he had no idea where he was or even if he wanted to hear from him.

Instead he called his mom, who cried tears of happiness for once, and whispered prayers of thank yous in rapid fire Spanish. He asked if she would come out for the release party. She said she would have to talk to his father.

He swallowed around the hurt and instead ended the call by telling her he loved her with all of his heart.

*

The weeks that led toward his CD release were a little crazy. They decided to go with one of the record label’s songs (a catchy song that David liked singing even if he really didn’t feel that attached to it) as his first single. He went on weeks of interviews and performances to promote it, which ended up including a string of tour dates filling in as the opening act for Demi Lovato.

It was oddly familiar to be on a tour bus, even if it did feel a little weird not to have the band and Cook on the bus with him. The first few nights on the road, he woke up with a jolt and forgot where he was. He would reach out to open the curtain before he realized that he wasn’t going to find Andy or Neal, but one of the dancers or maybe the tour manager giving people a run down.

He chalked the ache in his chest up to homesickness but refused to acknowledge which home he missed.

*

"_Listened to the CD. Call me._"

The text came awkwardly right as David was about to do a series of phoners and he didn't have long enough to stare at it before he had to pick up the call from his manager and get linked directly to a guy from somewhere back east asking him about his music.

To say he was distracted was the understatement of the year. The guy was probably really nice, he sounded nice, but every question took a second or two too long to process and so he must have sounded so rude or awkward... he wanted to apologize but he was afraid that would just make it worse.

He hadn't exactly been brave enough to ask the producers about it, but David actually had the suspicion that if your name was on the writing credit, they had to send you a copy of the CD. It wasn't even like he had a problem with that, either. He liked the idea that Cook would know that his help had made a huge difference in his music. The six tracks that they had co-written were _awesome_ and had good memories (even under the indescribable achy feeling they sometimes gave him). The problem was that they weren't the only songs on the CD and ... well. He hadn't actually thought about the fact that Cook would be getting a copy of all the songs.

Like the one he’d written. About Cook. That was so blatantly about them that David cringed just thinking about it.

“David,” the guy through the phone asked. “You still there?”

He nodded his head before he realized he was in a hotel room. By himself. He laughed. “Aw, yeah. Sorry. Guess my brain is a little fuzzier than I thought? It’s kind of early where I am… I think?”

The DJ laughed back. “Well, I get the feeling you’re going to have little chance to stop for sleep in the future. This CD is _sick_, man, you are going to be topping the charts in no time.”

“Oh _geez_… um… Gosh… thanks?”

“So how much did working with David Cook help you with your process?”

He barely suppressed the urge to make a surprised noise. No one had really asked him much about Cook, except for the tabloids but he was told to just ignore them. It was a valid question though, one that deserved a fair answer. He considered it for a second before he just opened his mouth.

“Cook was the best thing to happen to me,” he admitted. “He was patient and awesome and funny and like… the best person I’ve ever met. He just… is the best. I can’t imagine doing this without him… I wouldn’t _be here_ without him.”

By all accounts, the answer was general enough that it didn’t even begin to cover what it should, but wasn’t sterile or a lie. He still felt his stomach clench and his ears warm at just how much more he wanted to say. What more he _could_ say.

“Where do you think you’d be?”

“Um,” he bit his lip. _Alone… probably still in school and not even aware of how miserable I was_. “Utah?”

The DJ laughed again, and David forced one back. “Well then, I’m sure my listeners should be sending their thanks to David Cook. Thanks for your time. Want to intro your first single?”

For a split second he blanked completely on the formula of giving a proper intro and he really hadn’t been entirely sure who he was even talking to… but he looked down to find a cheat sheet he had forgotten about. “Hey, this is David Archuleta and you’re listening to 98.5 _The Mix_. This is my first single, _Crush_, hope you like it.”

*

By the time he had three seconds to himself it was hours later. He had never really thought he could get sick of interviews. (Cause he was shy, yes, but he was still so happy _anyone_ wanted to talk to him about music that it was weird to think that a part of him wanted to stop talking about it.) but sometimes he just wanted to ask about the weather or like… the DJ’s favorite food or something. There was only so many times he could think about the same questions over and over again before he started answering by memory more than thought.

After the first guy, there were a few more times that people asked about Cook and each time it got a little easier to find the right way to say what he wanted to:

_”Yeah, he’s an incredible musician. Working with him was amazing and I don’t know how I’ll ever thank him for it. He walked me through the process like the professional he is.”_

Nice and sterile, safe.

He even safely maneuvered around one brave guy’s question about _Falling_ and if it was written on personal experience. (_”Who doesn’t feel alone sometimes?”_)

It was a learning process.

He still had ample time before he had to be at sound check, which meant ample time to call Cook but even so, he hesitated. He had no idea whether or not he was ready to breech any of the topics that he knew had to be breeched and he was sure he would do it wrong if he tried. When he checked the text from earlier he wasn't sure what he was expecting. He half hoped that it had changed in the hours since he had read it, like maybe the spaces would sprout some logic or explanation. Instead it stared up at him with frustrating vagueness.

"_Listened to the CD. Call me._"

He clicked the 'call' button before he could think better of it.

"Archie?" Cook answered on the second ring. It sounded almost like he was in the middle of a concert; noise surrounded him and David almost felt guilty before he realized he never brought his phone on stage.

David put a finger in his other ear, even though the room he was in was silent. "Hey Cook."

There was a rustling noise. "Hold on, just... hold on. Fuck... Guys. It's Archie... Hold on, Archie."

He wondered where on Earth he was, literally, because he really could’ve been anywhere, and felt a tinge of sadness at the distance that was no doubt between them. He waited patiently while a series of noises came through the phone. He was no doubt finding a quieter place but it almost sounded like he was climbing a tall building or breaking out of a prison, or maybe it was just the obscenities coming out of Cook's mouth that made him think that. It shouldn't have made him smile, but it did.

"Archie?" Cook tried again, the phone line finally quieter. David took the finger out of his ear, he could still hear a thumping noise somewhere but at least it wasn't deafening anymore.

"Hi."

"You ... man, your CD came in the mail today. The dubs at least," Cook sounded tired. "I listened to them twice, they were awesome."

David rubbed at the back of his neck nervously. "Thank you. I... um. I'm pretty proud of it."

"You should be. It was... yeah. It's awesome. Gonna fly off the shelves."

The thought that Cook was _drunk_ struck David in one quick thwack to the back of his head. He looked up at a clock and saw that it was barely 3 in the afternoon. "Where are you?"

“Tulsa, checking out the old stomping grounds. Midwest Kings reunion.”

David frowned, “You know it’s like five where you are?”

“It’s our night off,” Cook defended. “Got to get to sleep early. Wake up on the road…”

It made sense, in the way that a lot of Cook’s thinking did, and even if it hadn’t he wasn’t sure why he was bothered by it. Perhaps he had hoped for the phone call to be going a little differently. But it was better than it could have been.

“Where are you?” Cook asked, obviously trying to break the silence.

“Um… Washington?” he looked out the window at the cityscape of Seattle. “State, not city.”

He knew it would be polite to ask a question now but the only questions he could come up with were a little too intense for a phone call. He was half afraid that if he opened his mouth he would do something totally stupid like tell Cook that he missed him or that he was miserable. But he wasn’t really miserable. He was just... Lonely.

He wasn’t going to tell Cook that.

“I think I just did like 400 interviews in the span of a few hours,” he blurted out and he heard an easy familiar chuckle break the tension.

“Phone interviews,” Cook gave a commiserative groan. “I feel like a parrot halfway through.”

David nodded, then felt a little silly. “Me too.”

“Andy says someday he’s going to just record my answers and hit play at the beginning of each interview.”

“Oh my gosh,” David exhaled. “That would be _awesome_. Do you think he could really do that?”

Cook laughed. “I’ve been trying to get him to do it for two years. Though you might have better luck with him.”

“I doubt that.”

There was a pause before Cook started again and when his voice came through the line it was somehow a little lower, conspiratorial and just a little intimate. It made a shiver run up his spine. “Not that they would admit it, but I think the guys miss you. The bus is weirdly quiet.”

“I miss the guys too. I miss… I miss the whole bus,” David admitted. “I like the people on this tour a lot. I mean, they’re awesome, don’t get me wrong. But… I miss you—guys. I miss all of you.”

_Smooth_, he thought, rolling his eyes and wishing he could just start the conversation over.

Cook swore under his breath and grunted into the phone. “They… I’ve gotta go. Boys are calling me. I’m glad you called though. I want to talk about the CD, I want to talk to _you_. Call me back. Seriously.”

“I want to talk to you, too,” David said but the line was suddenly too quiet and when he looked down he saw the call had ended. He put a hand to his chest and rubbed at the tight feeling. It was just a long day, too long on the road. He blinked at the sting in his eyes and slipped his phone into his pocket.

If he went now he could probably swing a quick run before the show.

*

Abbey called when they were in the middle of a two-day stint in New York, and it took David almost a minute to realize that where Abbey was it was four in the morning.

“You got nominated,” Abbey said, finally, after he stumbled around the way he’d found out.

David rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, still just shaking off the vestiges of sleep. “I got nominated?”

“You got _nominated_, kid,” Abbey repeated, loud and slow. “For best new artist at the MTV VMA’s.”

He jutted up in bed and was thankful he wasn’t in a bunk. “Oh my gosh, I got NOMINATED?”

“Thanks for catching up with the class,” Abbey teased. “And I’ve got one better on you. They want you to perform.”

David was sure his heartbeat was too fast to be healthy but he could care less. He put a hand down beside his bed, where he had left his laptop the night before. “Are you sure?”

“Am I sure?”

“Sorry, um, of course you are,” David blushed. “Just… they want me to perform? Really?”

Abbey coughed. “Well, they want you and David Cook to perform. One of the songs you worked on together.”

The way David exhaled was almost like someone had taken the last bit of air from his chest. His stomach clenched.

“Does… um. Did Cook say that was okay?”

“His agent is still talking him into it. I would give him some time but all there needs to be is a name on a line, don’t worry, David. You got _nominated_, let’s focus on that. The details will come later.”

David didn’t know how to tell Abbey that he wasn’t sure if he was worried Cook would say yes or no. Instead he forced a smile into his voice. “Yeah, yeah. That’s awesome.”

*

The phone call came four days later, when he was in the middle of Montana with almost no reception at all. He swore it was the curse of the road: invariably he only got important calls when there was just enough reception to know that it was important but not enough to actually do anything about it. He saw that it was his manager, saw that the call was followed quickly by a second one, but knew that if he tried to pick it up it would be choppy at best.

He fidgeted in his seat, stared at his cell phone like maybe it would grow a hidden antennae and find perfect reception, but it didn't. For miles and miles it just showed one bar, then none, then one. It was frustrating to say the least.

"You know," a voice from in front of him cut into his thoughts. It was Lindsay, one of Demi's back up dancers. "A watched phone doesn't ring."

He looked up at her and whatever she saw on his face must have been pretty bad because she immediately sat down next to him. He had to shift over a little to keep from being pressed along her side; the bus' couches really weren't that big but she swung an arm over his shoulder either way.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have an old soul?" she asked and David was taken aback just enough to not know exactly how to answer that question.

Instead he went with a quirked eyebrow and frown, "Um, what?"

"You have an old soul," Lindsay repeated, like it would make more sense the second time. "You are obviously older than your years and you look like something is weighing on you pretty heavy. Want to talk about it?"

He tried his best not to squirm out from under her arm, sure that he didn't want to be rude even if she was totally weirding him out. He remembered too late that she was the one who gave card readings and used an Ouija board on the bus sometimes; it made him even more uncomfortable around her. "My agent is going to call. He ... I ... well. I might be performing at the MTV Music Awards."

Lindsay went wide eyed and open mouthed, "Oh my Lord, David, that's AWESOME. You're going to be perfect, I know it. And it will be everywhere. Oh Lord, man you are going to be _famous_."

"Not famous," David answered, a weird knot in his stomach. He hadn't even thought about it from that angle. He was too busy worrying about who he was performing with to worry about the arena he was playing. "I... um. It would be with another singer so I wouldn't be the only one. The other person... they would be the one in center stage."

She frowned at him, "Who’s the other person?"

He weighed the option of just not telling her, it wasn't like it was her business at all. The thing was, he hadn't exactly gone out of his way to connect with any of the people on this tour. In fact, he had mostly avoided becoming friends with people, not only because he was pretty shy when it came down to it, but because for some odd reason it would feel like he was cheating on the old crew. It was just... he _needed_ to talk and she looked like she _wanted_ to listen. And maybe, just maybe, he should let go of the part of him that was holding back from connecting and instead try and form new bonds.

"David Cook," he answered, worrying at his lower lip. "He helped me write the song that I am nominated for... so my manager thought it might be a good idea to have him perform with me. Like, to promote it?"

Lindsay was quiet for a minute and then she reached out her other hand and squeezed his knee. “Oh, I see.”

“You see what?” he asked, eyes on his leg and her hand.

“Well,” she said, and blessedly moved to where neither of her hands were on him. He looked over at her and she looked concerned. “Singing with your ex probably isn’t the ideal situation.”

David gaped. “He isn’t my _ex_… Okay. Sort of my ex? But I mean. We’re friends? And he is … That isn’t even a _thing_. Like at all.”

Lindsay arched an eyebrow at him, in a way that was actually a little too much like something Cook would do. David averted his eyes and curled his fingers into the armrest, trying to breathe evenly. He wasn’t able to lie, not really but if he worked hard enough maybe he wouldn’t have to explain all of it. (Not that he should have to in the first place, but she was being so nice to listen to him when she didn't have to be. He was sure she wanted him to tell her something more and he kind of felt like he owed it to her.)

Long moments passed by, the sounds of the road beneath them and what sounded like a pretty fun game of Guitar Hero came from the back. He could tell her, he thought. She seemed to already know. There had been pictures, even if they were neatly swept under the PR carpet. It had been a rumor, unconfirmed and just speculative at best but … he could. Say it.

“He is…” he swallowed around his dry mouth. “He _is_ my ex. I guess. But you know… it’s not like we really broke up.”

Lindsay hummed thoughtfully, her long finger tapping on her lower lip. “If you didn’t break up, and he’s your friend… why are you so worried about this?”

“I am NOT worried,” he retorted, a little too quickly. “I mean… it’s just. We haven’t seen each other in a while. And the last time we talked was just… awkward. So maybe it’s a little weird. But I’m _not_ worried. Cook is my best friend. I’m … excited? To see him.”

“Are you trying to convince me or you?”

_Both_, he thought but before he could say it, the phone in his hand started to ring. In big bold letters it read, **ABBEY KONOWITCH**.

He looked up at Lindsay and whatever look was on his face gave the game away. She smiled and patted his shoulder. “You’ll be fine. See? Now I’m telling you so. It _has_ to be true.”

“Hello?” he said into the phone and beside him, Lindsay stood and walked off to the back of the bus.

“I’ve got good news,” Abbey said, smile coming loud and clear through the phone. The knot that had been in the pit of his stomach went a little tighter.

*

The time between the phone call and the actual arrival in LA for the show seemed to pass by in a blur of concerts and planning. (With very little sleep in between.) The fact that he was actually going to be performing on the MTV music awards, that he was _nominated_ for an award, wouldn’t quite sink in. Mostly he was fixated on the idea that he was going to be in a room with Cook. He was going to _see_ Cook. Oh lord, he was going to _perform_ with Cook. It made for an easy fixation point and a huge ball of anxiety all in one.

It figured that after all the nervous energy of the days that had led up to it, David woke up on the day of the rehearsal fifteen minutes before he was supposed to be at the theater. Just barely enough time to get himself clothed and into a car, no time for breakfast or checking his email, let alone time to properly freak out about seeing Cook. He supposed it was kind of a blessing in disguise. (Even though he hated the fact that he was late and could practically hear his mother’s disapproving tut about how rude it was to be so.)

As it was, he was bizarrely calm when he walked into the small room off of the Nokia Theater where Cook was seated with his back to the door. He had his guitar on his lap and he was noodling, not really putting together a melody or rhythm that David could recognize.

A part of him figured that he got the advantage by just standing there and bracing for it but it turned out to just give him time to worry. His heart started to thump in his chest and he inhaled before stepping a few feet into the room. Cook jerked around, dropping his guitar forward onto the chair beside him, and was instantly on his feet.

Cook wrapped him up in one giant bear hug, the good Cook-hug that he hadn’t gotten in forever. He leaned his head into the crook of the neck and inhaled as deeply as he could. For the moment, it was like nothing at all had changed, like they had been apart a day rather than months.

Then he pulled back and looked Cook in the eyes and it clicked. Everything was different in one way or another. There were lines on his face that David didn’t recognize, a look in his eyes that was guarded and a little nervous. His stomach dropped from where it had been lodged in his throat.

“Hey Cook,” he practically whispered, sounding quieter in the large empty room.

Cook gave a half smile. “Hey Arch.”

David broke before Cook did, shifting his stare from Cook to the piano on the other side of the room. A stand up piano, he thought, with a weird tug in his chest. He walked over and sat down on the bench, felt rather than heard Cook follow behind him. He stretched his hands out, the comforting feel of joints popping as he prepared to start.

But just as his hand hovered over the keys he turned to see Cook, standing a little bit away and without his guitar. He tilted his head. “Everything okay?”

“You look … different,” Cook offered and David swore he looked like a hunter trying not to spook a deer.

He tried to offer a casual smile, “Well it’s been a while.”

Cook nodded, put his hand out to grab the guitar that he had placed down and putting it over his neck. All the while he just looked at him, which made David feel uncomfortably on edge. He waited for the shoe to drop, but it was dead silent.

“I thought we were going for _less_ awkward?” David sighed, and stared down at the piano keys under his fingers. He was too aware of Cook’s presence; even with the length of the piano between them he swore he could feel his breath and maybe even hear his heart beating. (Though maybe that was just his own in his ears.)

It wasn’t a shock when Cook skirted his way around the piano and sat down beside him on the bench, careful to leave a fair amount of distance between them. “Well, we failed at that, Arch. Looks like we need a new plan.”

David jerked his head up to look at Cook. ‘A new plan’ sounded weirdly unpromising when he considered the look on Cook’s face. He thought about the possibility that Cook was about to break up with him _again_, for real and forever. It wasn’t that far fetched, they had left things a little unfinished. They had used words like, ‘for now’ and ‘we’ll see’.

But he thought about taking that away and his heart hurt so badly it felt like it might bust out of his chest, it hurt just to breathe… which was ridiculous. They hadn’t talked in months, hadn’t seen each other in longer. But still, he wasn’t ready to think of it as permanent... he wasn’t ready for it to be _over_.

Cook went to open his mouth again, but David didn’t let it shape the first word before he scooted forward and kissed him. Cook’s guitar forced him to curve himself forward, which most likely took the edge off of the intensity he had been going for. He didn’t care.

He put a hand on Cook’s face and brushed along the familiar line of beard, the fuzz of his side burns. He let himself cup the back of Cook’s head and bring him forward and tried not to let himself notice if Cook fought it or not. He silently prayed _please please please_ over and over again until finally he had to come up for air.

The quick inhaling of air left him a little dizzy, or maybe it was the lack of air during the kiss. He stared directly at Cook, waited to see if he had just messed everything up, even if he knew there was only one thing that could be worse. David had expected the silence to be deafening but was weirdly aware of how not quiet it was. They were both breathing loudly and from somewhere above them, he could hear another musician taking his or her time on stage seriously.

“Jesus, Archuleta,” Cook finally said. “You’ve been practicing…”

David’s back straightened. “I have _not_.”

Cook laughed. “Just kidding, breathe, man. I just… wow. Uh. I was going to ask if you wanted to talk about it, but I like you being proactive like that.”

“Oh,” David felt the flush on his cheeks get a lot redder. He put his hand up to cover his eyes and tried to think of something that would maybe make this a little less awkward.

Cook’s hand landed on his to take it down and when he opened his eyes again he found Cook just a few inches away from his face. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

A quick swipe of Cook’s tongue over his lower lip before he leaned towards David with a Cheshire grin. “Stay still.”

*

He was fine, really, no nerves or anxiety to speak of, all the way until he sat down at the piano and looked out into the audience. The first few rows were filled to the brim with people he had spent the better part of his life admiring from afar, and instead they were staring at _him_. His stomach jumped into his throat and his hands turned into sweaty noodles. He looked up worriedly at Cook who was giving him an encouraging smile tinged with a hint of fond amusement. He smiled back, licked his lips and waited for the people who were at the podium (one of whom was an actress he didn't know, but the other was Jason Mraz...) to do their thing.

"Ladies and Gentleman, American Idol winner David Cook and newcomer David Archuleta."

He shut his eyes and opened them back up again when he heard the beginnings of murmurs from the audience. Suddenly there was what sounded like a wave of deafening noise from the crowd and the only way he was able to not completely panic was to acknowledge that most of them were probably cheering for Cook. (He was okay with that, because if he’d been in the crowd, he would be probably be the loudest voice by far.) Cook thankfully had the initial cue, three glorious seconds of intro guitar before he had to count in. He focused on Cook's fingers over his guitar and found that it was easier to avoid the nerves that way.

The song was slow but steady and the melody reminded him of the back of the tour bus. Cook and Andy goofing around with ways to make it louder, the way that the chorus had gotten manipulated into a kind of dirty limerick by Neal while waiting for them to 'just finish it already'.

The fear slowly dissipated and morphed into the energy he always felt during a show. He caught sight of Cook, who was beaming a smile at him as if to say, “Isn’t this the coolest thing ever?” and he couldn’t help but give him a smile back. When he had laid the track down, without Cook, the song had felt incomplete, but with Cook’s voice singing along that wasn’t an issue anymore.

The moment it ended the sound was back, wave after wave of cheering and clapping and he couldn’t stop himself from ducking a little behind the piano. The lights dimmed, the camera light flickered off and Cook grabbed his arm and pulled him to face the crowd.

“Take it in, man. It’s for you.”

David stared out, squinted at the still bright lights in the distance. Somewhere in the crowd was his mom, who was his date, dressed to the nines. He could picture her smile, she was probably wiping at tears.

(He wouldn’t admit that he was fighting them as well).

He inhaled deeply.

“Nope,” he beamed at Cook. “It’s for _us_.”


End file.
